In the quiet and cold. Because you thought it was outside, and yet it all turns in.
Inward. Breathing in the cold air makes you realize that you are filled with something more. Something different.
But you have been living outside.
Leaving behind that which holds you close and dear.
Tenderly begging for you to come back home.
Words spill out because you can’t stop seeking ways to overindulge and avoid the pain.
And so you choose to feast, fight, love and process outside. All the time.
And inside, it’s alone and cold.