February huh?

I know what you're thinking, and please don't start. Honestly, don't.

For me February is just month, like any other, it's just that there are some more guys running around, chasing girls. November always have high birth rates. I'm immune to that stuff now.

Don't call me unromantic or jaded, well, I am kinda jaded, but about the world in general and not about love. There I said it. The "L" word. Shit.

The thing is with me, and I trust you would understand, is that I have tasted the stuff. That sweet strong stuff that let's you see the world in better ways, let's you smile, let's you be more than you are. I know the taste, my body remembers it. The thing I want you to understand is that I have also the antithesis of it; hate. I'm not going into a sob story here so I'll make it simple: I'm a person of extreme convictions to my emotions, in the rare chance that one happens to arise.

Did that make it simple? I guess not. Hahahaha. Okay, simpler still. I'm usually numb, but on the rare occasion that I feel something, I work my ass off with that emotion backing me up. Here lies the problem, for early on in life I've already tasted both poisons, at the same fucking, time.

I'll be honest. I'm a failed suicide. I'm a failed murderer. I'm a failed husband. I'm a failed brother. I'm a failed son. My life has been about maddening loneliness, and the only thing that anchors me from falling off the cliff is a small child still clutching my hand. I will not be a failed father.

I have nobody to give roses to. No gifts to wrap. No chocolates to give. I only have my feet to walk, and my arms to carry my son, until he can fly on his own. Then I can finally sleep with a smile.

What dreams may come then?