Oft at times I find myself adrift, lost amongst the snow, trudging through the melancholy only I  can seem to know.

Walking through the snow, in that melancholy only I do seem to know, searching for a bit of peace I find a piece of me; I feel compelled to hang it for all to see rather than leave it there and let it be, to let it go in that snow, that winter that I seem know. To do so would be more than I could bare…

For every time that snow does fall I barely survive even for time, the ordeal of being there.


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