I am in winter. I walk and crunch, crunch, crunch the snow groans beneath my feet. I shuffle along thinking of warmth. I am not in hell, but some kind of icy purgatory that freezes me in stasis. While the rest of the world moves forward—I fall behind.
I am in the company of my footsteps that go nowhere.
I am drifting, but not to sleep.
I am in winter and waiting for spring.