Consolation, aside:

I chose to set aside my misgivings and take a risk, and so far, it has been nothing but fascinating.

—

As for exhilaration, what else? The music that I love so, which raises me above my mind, if only for six-minute spans. (I follow the winds that bring the cold / I light a fire in your soul / The lightest touch of feathers falling) The presences that I revel in, friends who I can throw my arms around and laugh full-throatedly, head tossed back to gaze at the sky as joy wells up out of my very being.

That is exhilaration. The fact that i can even attempt to quantify it is testament itself to how much the season has made me happy. This spring has been the awakening of a new stage in my mind, and with any luck, the growth that I’ve experienced will tide me through the next winter, because now I know what it truly means to love winter; not to be awestruck by snowflakes, but rather to embrace weaknesses and soar past them.

And release from the past is sweeter than anything; letting go, grinning widely as I call: ghosts of the past, I summon you to me! four years ago, wide-eyed infection! three years ago, ill-gotten attention! two years ago, fleeting delusion! one year ago, mindless confusion! this year, a glimpse of possibilities. I can face each and every one of you and accept you as a learning experience; regrets are useless, wincing maybe, but above all something transcended and forgotten. You cannot hurt me anymore.

It all sounds well and good in theory, but for whatever reason, I’m simply happy with life.

—

gazing at handwriting across papers, listening to a song called ‘Time’, breathing heavily, it suddenly occurs, the thought: this is not four years, this will not last, there may be an end and it will come within the next eight, and you will be doomed to be tied to that.

Every truth is mutable, but nothing else is certain; and sometimes, there is such a thing as being too similar.