Every few months,
I become convinced that I am once again in the winter of my life,
saying “No, not now” to the insistent sun of summer.
I’ve been getting round to giving up on myself for each of my golden years,
but then you show up,
bringing the sun with you,
and I am blinded by the bijou belief that I could be wrong,
and that there’s still something out there that could make me smile.