To the month where my life began,
Lucky number eleven you are, at least to me. I believe you are the reason my 11:11’s always come true. You see, we have a bond- where you ground me, and I ensure that your beauty is appreciated. You are the serene blend of remaining autumn fire and forthcoming winter gray. The balance you achieve is what I strive for, as I am often too hot with anger or too cold with fear. I want your chilling sun, with a few snowflakes mixed in for spice. Most of you is marked by the scorpion, a tiny creature that kills with no warning. But you, you are the warning that time will soon be running out and starting over, and, eventually, running out again. We dress in deep shades for you, all meant as a complement because we cannot compete with your essence. You are a time meant for musings and the Muses. Do you know what you mean to us? You fill our hearts with the rawest of emotions, forcing to feel everything, all the time. I’ll leave with the words of a soul who knows my own soul better than I do: “2 November. This morning, for the first time in a long time, the joy again of imagining a knife twisted in my heart.” (Franz Kafka).
All my love,
The girl you created