disynthetic

A feather soft touch on my back. That is one of my favorite memories.

Once, I was skiing in Colorado. I brazenly decided to go straight down the hill in a tuck. I didn't know it was against the rules. I was going so fast that I had streams of tears running along the sides of my face. They were frozen. That was one of the most exhilarating moments of my life.

It was almost as memorable as the sepia-stained, still-frame moments I remember before my car slid off the road into a wooded creek. Time really does slow down. It is not a cliche. It sucks, but I don't talk about that much anymore. Maybe it scares me to think about being that close to death too many times in one lifetime. It comforts me to know that those times still can be counted with one hand. I think I was in shock for awhile. No cellular reception, no passers-by, and nothing to do except walk until I got reception. That night was dark and lonely. And very cold.

Speaking of cold, the nights are cold again. The transition from summer to autumn was literally overnight. I choose my words carefully because these words are not to be taken lightly: I like very little about winter because it makes me feel so alone. Winter is barren, desolate, uninviting. A snowy walk through the woods is the ultimate transliteration of loneliness.

I remember more of the bad than the good sometimes. The good doesn't seem as colorful in my mental pictures.

It's a bitch sometimes.