How efficiently I will try to find some meaning in the unfruitful and harsh silence and declare that all that there to it is the meaningless rumination. Some seasons gather, putting way their differences, just to deceive with a false narrative. I will be diminished by time after being dominated by it for most of the awake moments. I tried being resilient and pressurize my imaginations to yield some timeless thoughts, as I cannot afford to extend time, cajole it with my frail persuasions; it does not work that way and life seems to be more dominant than I am. I refuse to speak too often as words lose their meaning, lose their way in the sludge of insults hurled at the unrestricted life. Feeling smaller during the short days is normal now and moments will be more bitter during the elongated nights. It feels as if the misshapen times are camouflaged by the powdery fabrications of an upcoming season.