Chasing Vans

On the windowsill of Jove's palace rests the urn of blessings and the urn of evil, two inevitable ingredients that spark and fizzle into a hundred fireworks, setting the navy canvas alight and spiraling smoke upwards into the heavens; born from the ashes is life.

Good and bad go hand in hand, and always have. They are the original contrasts that complement, without one, there is no other.

The past year has been eventful, to say the least. I haven't been writing as much as I wish I was, but this sudden wake to reality has turned me optimistic and alive and craving for some kind of creative output. I can splatter my empty spaces with cobalts, violets and aquamarines, I can prance around the room and spill with laughter, but too often does my memory replay the projections of change against the white walls of my eyelids, how things used to be so different, so gloomy and dark.

The death of my father initiated the long stretch of misery wherein I was practically dragging each day by the nails just to carry on, things were so difficult and there was no end in sight.

But today, I have a permanent smile of radiance etched into my face, and yes, I have noticed a pattern, where good and bad take separate turns to navigate this ship through misty waters, each taking their sweet time, causing me to adapt to the change in weather when one overtakes the other.

But for now, it's all smooth sailing, and I have another few months of these blessings to soak up.

Come what may, I am ready.