I usually make up the title after I write the post but now I have no idea

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I’m probably going to miss winter.

School, for me, starts in September and ends in June. The snow can start falling as early as September and as late as April. Thus, school has always been semi-synonymous with winter. Winter walks and winter waits at the bus stop.

Winter has been the frame to many of my memories. Most of my memories. I almost feel nostalgic thinking of it. I’m not a child anymore, my life doesn’t revolve around school anymore. There’s no more reason for me to be out there in the cold anymore.

And it’s kind f hard to explain how I feel about it. For a second, I was a little emotional. Winter’s always with me when I’m alone. When I’m together with other people. But it’s all kind of faded away. I wish my life were a little more dramatic. I was there was some reason for me to recall all the things I’ve done in the winter. All the waiting, all the walking, everything. But it’s like I have to move forward.

I want to take the time to remember it all. I kind of want to relive it. Just the feelings of it. Waiting outside in the cold. I miss the winter.

But life is moving now. I’m probably going to forget about the winters here in Calgary. I don’t even know if I’m coming back after school. (But school is the plan, and I don’t think it’ll change.) This Calgary, all the things I’ve done here.

But there’s not much waiting for me here. I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know where I’ll be once I’m out of school. I can’t plan these things.

I feel kind of empty, compared to before. So many things to remember, so many people to know, so many things to remember. So many things to feel. Like I was swimming alongside so many fish of so many different colours that we make the river a rainbow. But now I’m grey, and the river is blue. Deep blue. Maybe I’ve reached the ocean.

There’s noone around me now. It’s not like the decade of winters I spent out in the cold. Alone in the cold, waiting for things to make me warm. And how warm they were.

Acceptance and talent. Compassion and wounds. Give me a push. Pick what you like. Walk her home. Quiet trust. Forgiveness and understanding. Waiting through the cold for warmer things.

And it almost doesn’t matter to me now. I’ve taken what I can from it. No more cold in exchange for warmth.

But where I’m going is quite rainy. Never really gets cold. What am I doing?

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