Now I am quietly waiting for the catastrophe of my personality 

to seem beautiful again, 

and interesting, and modern. 
The country is grey and 

brown and white in trees, 

snows and skies of laughter 

always diminishing, less funny 

not just darker, not just grey. 
It may be the coldest day of 

the year, what does he think of 

that? I mean, what do I? And if I do, 

perhaps I am myself again.

 

[Frank O’Hara – Meditations in an Emergency]