Living out his imagination, thinking the worth of his life, and communicating his identity through writing, Koxeida struggles not for the sake of others, but for himself. He is a selfish amateur being.
It is said that new life begins at January;
The festive of birth, and the rebirth of hope.
Awakening dream that is our life.
So when February teases us with the roses of romanticism,
we let ourselves drown in mirthful delight.
And then we get hit by the harsh reality that is March.
Scorch summer reminding us that life is not at all rosy.
April passes by with its calm wind.
Cool and collected,
the month slips unnoticed through the parched season.
Well, May begins.
Honestly though, it reeks of the scent of unloved courage.
How bleak and dreary we’ve become.
Stop reminding us, June.
Halfway through exactly means another half to go.
What was once the Goddess of marriage has become the symbol of hate for unwanted.
So, July arrives, knocking our senses back,
teaching us the meaning of individualism and independence;
Of all, joy of freedom.
It all happens when we stop looking for it.
We have finally found our love in the awkward month of August.
Thirty days hath September and we hath our month-filled fun.
How cheeky and cheery life suddenly turns about.
So, the legend says October is a harbinger of uncertainty.
Yet we dance in the youthful ignorance of life;
Gambling a part of us.We should have known.
November has always been the month for departure.
Though it’s gone and never back, we will remember.
And then December’s wintry breath begins to envelop the somber solitude of life.
Yet the chill surprisingly warms our soul.