the winter of my life

I can't believe I've been away from Berlin now for nearly six long weeks.  It seems almost like forever ago, that I hopped on that flight out of the city, a little misty eyed over everything.  In truth, things had simply become overwhelming and I just needed to get out, to think, to gain some distance from my problems.  However, now that I'm about to face going back, there's this undeniable bubble of apprehension building disastrously in my gut.  It's a mixture of excitement, to be back, with hints of 'oh shit, what if nothing's changed.'

The bitterness of winter's approach looms over me and I can't say that I'm looking forward to it, not in the least.  Perhaps once upon a time, when I was still in my own home, with the central heating on high, Casablanca on the box and Mr Pig snoring beside me, I could have quite easily romanticised the season, but alas, being a vagrant in these conditions is not really quite as quaint.  I've been living out of a suitcase for the past sixteen months, sleeping on every friend's floor, sofa and spare bed and I think it's safe to say, I'm currently all out of offers.

At times, this truly feels like the winter of my life and I could weep for...well, so many things really.  I truly just crave to be settled.  To lay some permanent roots.  To find some security, which at times, my life is so desperately lacking.  Whilst in the summer months, I am more than happy to island hop, living in my bikini and sleeping away my afternoons on a beach, in the cold, depressing winter months, I need comfort, hibernation, quiet contemplation.  Right now, I just don't know if that's going to be an option and in fairness, that concerns me.  It makes me question whether I want to go back at all.

It's true that I've found my heart in Berlin, but I have yet to find my place, yet to find my anchorage and without some security, all I want to do is run away.  Escape to Barcelona and ride out the course of winter in a tiny apartment, near to the sea.  Pretend like the rest of the world doesn't exist.  Bury my nose in my books and watch films all day long.  Sometimes my nerves get the better of me.  Sometimes my longings become all too much.  Oh winter, why must you come.

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