Thoughts on a Winter's Day

Vibrant music playing through the wild evening, and through the cold in the January air. Some part of inside, creates a warmth, makes one, want to investigate, to be one with its source. And unremembered dreams, seem to want to still me in their aftermath. I got up this morning, thinking I should return to my bed and try to return to them. In winter, colour seems to retire, seems to be submissive to the climate. And different kinds of love provoke me, and I attempt to search them for understanding. There's a hunter and all he seems to be is circular. The beginning reaches the end until it reaches the beginning once again. Stuck inside of this moment of the day, my mind and its remembrances, deep guilt inside the reason why. Moral debt, and a youthful attraction, in a far away world of yesterday, remains clear. I never understood the reason for this particular course, I never wanted to understand perhaps. And understanding will still be in the department of unknowing anyway, outside of black and white reality, and even the word reality is questionable. I can understand the necessity for comedy and horror and the things of escape, when they probably couldn't understand me, in my complex simplicity. And ultimately the heart wants to only deal in love, and it dwells on the vagaries of it. And romance is a universe of a picture, when the world seeks to envelope and define, within mystery. And mystery has no answers, but colour, and its colours speak to the heart again, with suggestion and some kind of expectation perhaps.