For her, November was when she learnt both the power of love and the power of pain.
It wasn't just a month, it was those overwhelming thirty days she wished they could pass, so she dosen't remember any memories, Not the happy ones, and not the sad ones.
It is undeniable what the Nostalgia could do to us, Nomatter how fine we became, The feeling of Nostalgia could be more like a time machine.
It gets you to re-live it all again.
You could look around you, Satisfied with what you have and even with what you don't have.
Nostalgia has no relation with your present surrondings, You could be so convinced with all the decisions your brain made or that you had the purest intentions and they were used against you, but it can't prevent your heart from bleeding inside of you, with no exaggeration brusting and bleeding from pain. Nostalgia can make all those tears in your eye duct fall helplessly, because you pretended to be stronger than what you were backthen.
November brought her that Nostalgia, a night mare she wants to erase from her mind.
She looks around her, remembering how november was different two years ago, She was over the moon, Happy. She looks around her, and remembers how november was last year, and she remembers she could barely breath, but she held up her head and smiled.
And when she looks at November now, she could see that she is out of the storm, Every thing around her is calm now. It is safe, it is calm. She got over everything that caused her love or pain, All she is afraid of, is anything else to be repeated. She now only wants November to be a sweet one. Without the repeating of any events that could bother her or stress her.
For that when you are wounded, not you, not your strength, not anything could determine when you will heal and sometimes you never know if there is even a remedy to your damage, You could look into the scars, knowing you survived alot of things, that dosen't mean you want to re-live them again.
For her november was the evidence, that the heart that can fall for the little things, could be wounded by the little things.
For her November wasn't just a month, it was those thirty days she wished they could pass. For her heart was never forgetful.
Story