Let the music play until the end...

He turned away from the universe as not to fall for its plea, for it used to seduce and consume him, and there was this one night a few years back and he was not yet accustomed to farewells and just like now he stood waving long after the ship was gone. But he was younger then and easily fooled and the sky was deep and dark and blue and he took his clothes off to let the breeze freeze his bones. He waded until he could no longer walk and it was too cold to swim but still he kept on walking at the bottom of the sea for he could not tell the difference between the sky and the lack of someone he loved and he had not yet learned how the task of moving on is as necessary as survival.

I think if there's anytime for a fresh start, it's now. There is a longstanding rumor that spring is the time of renewal, but that's only if you ignore the depressing clutter and din of the season. All that flowering and budding and birthing, the messy youthfulness actually verges on squalor. Spring is too busy, too full of itself to be the best time for reflection, re-grouping, and starting anew. For that you need December. You need to have lived through the mindless imperatives of your life before you can see that a landscape of new fallen snow is the real you. December has the clarity, the simplicity, and the silence I need for the most profound awakening yet.