It’s that time. When the sad kids go into hiding. We cling to the beauty because we know it will fade. Our lovers are squirrels. They gather hope for the winter. I am watching my friends dig holes. We are darting our eyes, averting the past while preparing our nests.

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“We are lonesome animals. We spend all our lives trying to be less lonesome. And one of our ancient methods is to tell a story, begging the listener to say, and to feel, “Yes, that’s the way it is, or at least that’s the way I feel it. You’re not as alone as you thought”’.  -John Steinbeck

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Take herbs that ground you. Put the hatred you have for yourself on a shelf. Bottle it. Label it. You can revisit it in a moment. But for now, take in 5% of your body being your body. And treat it well. Drink your tea with friends. Hear them laugh at your jokes. Fall asleep with your pinky wrapped around someone else’s pinky. Remember that you are not a sum of how others see you. You even hold hands different. Each special moment makes us more alive. That’s a treasure not a curse.

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