I wrote you back in April; I was hoping you would consider my proposal. Days went by without a word; I waited breathlessly. After a month, I decided to try my luck elsewhere. Time moved on despite your silence. Twenty-three days into October, you responded. The curt note of rejection stung like a paper-cut. It wasn’t the refusal that bothered me; getting a hopeless response nearly two-hundred days later was worse than being ignored.
Now, it’s November, and harvest season is upon us. The wind is blowing away the optimism. It’s getting hard to believe in faith, hope, and charity. I want to hear a new melody; the breeze is singing a horrible song.