Months of the great gloom

It's that time of the year again. These are the months of the great gloom and I am thus humbled. It is with sincere reverence that I give myself September up until February to reflect on the beauty found in the wake of each year's quiet passing. In perfect love and imperfect loving, I give myself back to the arms that held me up when I could no longer stand. To the concrete, I send my love. To the great gloom, I give these fragile hands.

There is no love here. In love, I am forever alone.