It is snowing outside.

The world is white to gray to cold blue.

I sit on the edge of my bed, hugging my knees.

Nightgowned and neglected.

Alone….

Alone… ….

I am not sleeping.

I am not waking.

I am not anything but existing.

My small fingers hold to small knees to a small chest.

These violet eyes.. … …narrow with confusion and clarity at the same time.

Breathing in.. …

Breathing out.. ….. …

Breathing in.. … .. … ..

Breathing out.. .. . …

And…

The flakes…--

My violets dart to the side.

My lips purse.

The wide-stretching windows.

The frost.

The frozen ash gently, gently, gently falling.

The cold blue waters and glittering City beyond.

The endless, inviting death of dark night swallowing the cosmos into silence.

I stand up.. …

I walk away from the bed.

I approach the stretch of glass.

The snow drifting beyond.

The iciness that life tries to deny.. …

I walk up—

And I press my hand to the glass.

So cold.. ….

I exhale.

I shut my eyes.

I press my entire body against the glass window and embrace the snowed world.

So very cold.. ….

So very still.. … .. ….

Only me and the Other—and yet Alone.

"So horrifyingly beautiful.. … .."

A tear.

A smile.

A frown.

A sigh.. …

…. …and a drone.

"So horrifyingly beautiful.. … .."

And it drifts.

And it drifts.

And it drifts.

And it.. .. .. .. … ..

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