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Pale moonlight
and fingers of frost across window panes,
a long month of grey days and cold nights 
stretch before me,
the curse of yearly January blues.
Painful memories thread from the past,
more than post-christmas lows.
Sleepless nights spent wandering the house
reliving the hurt,
and those I have lost walk the halls with me
this month. 
They whisper to me in the dark, 
as I become my own ghost,
shadowing voices in the mid-night hours.
I cry for them as best I can,
reluctant to admit that all I feel is numb.
Lost.
The month stretches before me, 
reliving those Januarys when they left.
I die with them yearly,
watching it over and over
giving myself no chance to forget.
Our January curse. 
I pace the halls in the dark frosty nights
and wait for the month to wane.
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