01.01.02-9:36 p.m.>

Winter is so anticlimactic. Its the part of the movie that drags. The pictures where no one is looking directly at the camera. Everything dies, and the trees become bare,colors are muted,and the idea of progress is all but forgotten about beneath piles of unplowed snow in suburbia.

you sweetheart, you with the big eyes, see those clouds? Winter's here, supposed to snow, I can smell it, and I can see it in the way you shake when your trying to stand still on platforms and street corners waiting for trains and buses and things to happen on nights when you're bored.

The wind, making your eyes tear.

This season,unforgiving.

You're not dead,you're not dying,you're just tired.

So am I.