I’ve been a little lower than I like to think recently. I guess it’s these winter months. I always find them difficult. The bleakness. The eternal darkness. The constant drudgery.
My evenings consist of waiting to go to bed in hope that tomorrow will be different to the day just gone. They rarely are. I know I only have myself to blame – not because of my quiet social life, but for taking this outlook on life.
What I should be telling myself is this: with each day come fresh beginnings. View each day as a singularity. Don’t obsess over the past or the future either, look after the here and now and things will start to take care of themselves.
Once time has passed it is lost forever
Ties holding us back, we must learn to sever
From night to day
From black to grey
The beauty of tomorrow is that it is not yesterday.