Winter
Winter is unforgiving.
Where glass once held the outline of warm breath, there is ice. I chip at it endlessly.
My only breath barely breathes, leaving a quick puff that dissipates. I take breaths when I can, quick and short.
It is as it should be, they say. This is how the earth goes on her way.
Winter has this false nobility. Wears the endless days proudly. As if the sacrifice of the warmth is worth it.
Do you think this is worth it?
Where I once sang my name proudly, finding new ways to say it, I barely whisper.
What is my name?
Blankets cradle me, I’m sure I will never leave them. At this rate I will wander around dragging them to the grocery store.
They say the warm weather will come one day, so you should get ready. Don’t lose hope. Don’t think these endless days of quiet, when the phone never rings, means anything.
Yet it does.