I’ve always loved endings
November concocts a strange kind of love for many. November is just there in the year – it is cold as a reminder of the upcoming winter and yet still warm from the remnants of orange in October. It is as calm as a quiet Wednesday, when I come home from work and tell you how uneventful it was, and you’d be sitting in the dining table in front of me with nothing new to say. It is as contemplative as you past midnights, when you’re seated at the edge of the bed, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. Some people would stay in bed until the clock strikes noon in November. Some people would wake up too early from lack of sleep. Some people, like us, would find love in November, the kind of love that is hard to keep.