Winter thaws and begins to stretch its arms, before quietly and quickly retreating back to its stagnant, cold state. I do the same.
At times I stretch my arms; at times I am full and ready to shake weight off; at times I feel so empowered and warm and tingly and full, all on my own. It is in these moments that I make every joke and laugh at myself. I do more push-ups and offer oreos to strangers and friends, just because.
And suddenly, violently and gently, I constrict again. My arms heavy. My body “others” itself. My arms are a conspiring enemy.
I constrict. My arms shatter and shed their excitable joy; they heavy; they fall into themselves. And the cold cements them into place.
A friend of mine - her name being Anxiety - visits often during this time; she feels necessary and constant; she asks me to dinner and I always say yes - even when I know the meal will resemble stones, not food.
Winter is trying to thaw, and so are we. Tomorrow, they say that a storm will pass through the city. Winter will constrict - perhaps for just a moment.
But I hope she knows that she does not have to stay like this forever.
I hope that she understands that seasons are for her too; to rest, breathe, not carry the expectation that she must always be the same, cold, thing.