March

From the empty lot of a day without inspiration. A day. Feels like a waste. I see my goals sitting unfinished and ripe with need. Where is the fire? The drag of my ever-failing depression tries to dig it's claws in one last time, looking for my weakness, fatigue, tough days, tall walls, unknown routes and uncertain effort. Energy robbed. These are the times to let the wind blow hard and try to push us down. To let the cold and dark attempt its very best to break us, until its will grows tired. Sorrow in despiration, I already know I will be okay. No matter what comes next. And tomorrow, when the hardship has passed, we will be left standing thankful and accepting of the new beautiful sun.