Cold.
The crisp air on my face,
The crunchy snow beneath my feet.
Dark.
The sun impossibly far away,
The streets seemingly deserted.
Isolated.
Hiding from the rest of humanity,
Remembering a time of warmth.
Numb.
Eternally waiting for spring,
Waiting to feel alive.
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 2:18 AM UTC
