Winter Blues

The day is warm somewhere. Here, it is dark, dim, and quiet. Cold seeping in through layers and layers of clothing. Toes curling and nails a faint purple. The sun shines through the window, but you have to run to catch it. It dances on the wall and a sliver dazzles on the sofa. Either you plaster yourself to the wall or hang by a thread from your window, the sun will escape you. Work seems like a punishment as your fingers refuse to move across your keyboard. The winter chill creeps up like an insidious force; hands under you as you sit at your desk. Maybe these hands will get warm enough to function because you have to meet the deadline. Despite, tap-tap-tap. Sounds of children playing outdoors, music from their toy cars buzzing in your ears, someone is at the door and you are distracted. You stare out the window, glimpses of the sun-kissed sky, on one of those rare, clear days. Pigeons frolic on your window sill, chirping, lurking, and invasive. You are brought back to Earth with a jolt, the clock is ticking. Tap-tap-tap. Just a thousand words more and you can call it a day.

The sun is setting now; no slivers, only shadows remain. As the day grows darker, you finally see yourself in the window, a spectre-like imitation, a cheap one. You resemble a deer caught, wandering, sauntering, guilty. Your fingers are now stiff, the purple floods your nails, you worry that they might fall off. Time to get warm. As you type the last word, a burden is lifted. You can now snuggle under your blanket. The obsidian sky looms as the lights flicker in neighbouring houses. Before you know it, your feet give in and a desperate warmth envelops you in a familiar embrace. Your eyes feel heavy, your breathing slows. You succumb.