For a couple of years ago I declared December the most magical month of the year, not just because of Christmas, but because the atmosphere I decided to create around the month itself. For that very reason I have been waiting for the snow to fall so my life can become a fairytale for a little while and I can leave the experiences of the last couple of months behind me.
The snow finally fell today, and walking in wonderland with Patrick Wolf in my ears I felt incredible. It was magnificent for about five minutes, and then I realized that my life was still full of problems, new ones caused by some of the old, caused by some of the older, and the only difference was that the air looked pretty. What I'm saying is, I'm tired of my life getting better before it gets worse before it gets better before it gets worse and so on, and I was kind of counting on magic right now. I guess I'll just have to grow up a little sooner than I want to and deal with it all without any kind of fairytale help, but in the end, December was only ever magical because I made it magical, and hope is never really lost.


Quote of the day

“But they’re… evangelical about what they have, as if I’ve come up from north London to arrest them for being monogamous. I haven’t, but they’re right in thinking that it’s a crime where I come from: it’s against the law because we’re all cynics and romantics, sometimes simultaneously, and marriage, with its clich├ęs and its steady low-watt glow, is as unwelcome to us as garlic to a vampire.”

— Nick Hornby (High Fidelity)


It's sort of ironic that my birthday would occure in the month that apart from the first two of the year is the most depressing month of the year. December would be too if it wasn't for the fact that I kind of love Christmas. Every year, when the days are shrinking, air is getting remarkably colder and I really feel winter closing in, I try to remember last winter. The strange thing is I can only remember one. The one where I was hopelessly in love with the idea of a beautiful boy I knew. It was the strangest crush, because I never acted on it, and I didn't want to. I just walked around for an entire winter dreaming up a relationship, so innocent and beautiful it could only fail my expectations. I remember walking home, alone, late at night, listening to music and watching the snow fall down, and it was the most magical winter I ever had. For some reason I've romantesized it to the most magical time of my life even. Alone, but in an intence relationship with a daydream.



After everything that's happened to me lately, I know that what I need is to be alone, to heal and recover and grow sane on my own, learn to function as an individual. Still what I want, more than anything in the world, is for you to show up on my doorsteps in the middle of the night and sweep me the fuck off my feet.


And what a terrible mess I've made of my life