Bummer

There are some mornings when you wake up with oozing romanticism. The spirit of life makes you pop out of bed and into someone's arms, embarrassing them with the oddness of it. Less often, more imprinting and disturbing of evenings occur. When there remains no point of having a smoking cup of tea over some chit chat. The air would stand still, almost frozen. Inhale! But the lungs remain deflated with nothingness and you choke. The insects crawling in the pit for your grave would then probably be in for a  meal. Their meal that previously had been your flesh.
*sigh*

I see her gliding through the slits that remain between the glass covering my window. She is whirling nonchalantly through the key holes and any nook or crevice. Her spinning white icy hair languidly dance to surround everything. She touches only slightly over the surface of things, weighing them down. A streak of chill runs down my spine and I stand face to face with her. My average red-brown fierce eyes watching her reverberating gray silver lackadaisical bays for eyes. She hisses her song. I wince in a debilitated attempt to stay unaffected. And fall.

She would just enter into every moment of your life without a permission. The most boggling of the truths, however, is that she is beautiful. Somebody's dream. Somebody's companion. Others cherish her so much that they prepare for the time of her arrival. I, on the other hand, don't like her.
Winter!