Cold

I haven't been around. I've been withdrawing from my lives, both fictional and real (not ever knowing which is which). Must be the cold winter winds corralling me into my nest, deeper into my nest, deeper into myself, screeching and howling and moaning away, blanketing my nest in a thick coat of snow, dulling my senses and everything with them. It's cozy in my nest where it's too easy to embrace the loneliness in exchange for warm colours, pages and pencils under my fingers, lulling me to sleep. And when I venture outdoors, windswept and all too awake, I'm alone with the dark shapes of houses and tall pine trees, unyielding to old man Boreas's icy breath and cloak. I'm cold.