Quickly; spring arrives.

It always catches me off guard how quickly spring arrives. One moment leaves lie on chilled earth looking up to bare trees, and the next neverending sprouts begin their hopeful scramble towards the blooming light. Hope should ascend alongside this growth, and hope should breed freely. I want to feel better and am trying so hard to make that so, but I feel my bones aching, and my hope eroding. This emergence without me always feels so callous; I wanted it to be different this year.

Each day, despite my malaise, I have been determined to do as much as I can. I am trying to be content with a couple lines, a handful of strokes, or spoken ideas; I don't think it is enough for me.

Aging ailments, newborn chem-tervention, and trend setting self-destructive ideation all hold me back, and slow me down. I promise I'm trying, but I am less capable than I made you all think I am.

Yours,

pee-bee