Dear Reader
The hollow ringing of winter continues with each smoke filled breath.
A silent heart beats onwards in this fragment of time. The calm before the storm.
Within this circle of stillness, the soft echoing of the engines of murmuring cars can be heard from a distance.
A sudden jolt of shock creeps through the fingertips of the author as the mechanical mechanisms of the neighboring heating unit kicks to life.
Another deep breath before the remains of the cigarette is finished as the crushing waves of anxiety tumbles within an empty void.
With each fatal error, it results in the slow dissension into cold lonely unforgiving quicksand.
Within each hearth there is hope and with any luck, love.
To find the strength to pull oneself from drowning in a sea of quicksand is no easy feat.
I don’t know.
I was hoping you could tell me.