Thursday, February 19th.

The once lively suburban street resembles a ghost-town.
Children are locked away inside, hiding,
protecting themselves from the harsh bite of winter.
Living in Minnesota, the cold is everlasting.

I find myself forever wishing of better days,
dreaming of windy beaches instead of wind chill.
I wear dresses and shorts inside,
changing into heavy coats and dark colors to even open a window.

There’s a dip in my bed from sitting in the same spot for too long,
and empty water bottles scattered around my room like easter eggs.
The poster on my wall is slowly coming off, and I don’t try to fix it.
Music is overplayed, and peanut butter sandwiches are making me yawn.

Living in Minnesota, the cold is mind-altering.