October begins the anniversaries. It was in October I got The Lolly, broke up with my last boyfriend. It was that November I met Mr. X. In December, my dad smiled wide - and we started bashing a hole in my kitchen wall. In February ...
November has never been a kind month for me and my brother. It bears its own unpleasant dread. I'm not much depressive - and I'm not (much) superstitious - but experience is experience, and experience has never induced in me a carefree love for this month of the year. It has borne good fruit. But it has been unremittingly cruel more than once.
I'm not down, but wary.
November comes in like a migraine and leaves like a flu. Or something like that. Not to be trusted, months without cute little lamb similes.
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