January

In January, everyone is sad and hates each other

and I can’t understand why.

In January, when the rooftops are dusted with snow or

white frost and everyone gets cold in the evenings

and has to wrap up together, warm by the fire.

In January, when soon we’ll be walking through city streets,

by the rivers of the world and have the best days of

our lives. Just like I said.

In January, when everyone complains that they just want

summer back. And I don’t want summer to ever

come again.

In January, when the shops close at the first sign of snow

and people stop using their cars - everyone’s actually

quiet, for once.

In January, I celebrate my birth and long, quietly in the middle

of the night, for my childhood again. For that house on the

hill where nothing mattered to me. The world hardly went

beyond the street corner. The neighbour’s dog would come

and say hello.