The silence of the falling snow is the only thing that feels honest these days. It covers everything—the scars, the memories, the things we lost in the war. Some might call it cold, but I find there is a certain peace in the frost that the warmth could never provide.
Does anyone else find themselves retreating into the shadows just to feel some semblance of control? Or am I the only one who prefers the bite of a winter storm to the hollow promises of summer?