The setting sun reaches out to me,
earnestly stretching to cup my face.
I shrink back from its warmth, cold as I am.
The sun is beautiful, warm, comforting.
And yet, it is too far away; the comfort is an illusion.
The cold seeps in me, weighing on my bones and making me slow.
I long for that warmth, my face turns almost automatically to the sun,
wishing it closer, warmer, stronger, anything.
The cold is spreading through, settling in my heart,
claiming my body, my mind.
And here I am again, stuck, cold, tired.