A second shadow stops and towers over yours.
Like a thousand year old tree threatening to collapse the house built from a ribcage and barely beating heart waiting for a single heavy snow to crumble down everything at once.
Winter blues set on smothering veins fighting for every pump of burning blood coursing through.
Desperate for relief in more than just a skin break, alleviating the pressure for a brief moment in time before it all builds again.
Low temperatures reminding you how low you sink at a time when you should be happy.
You should be singing Christmas carols, not prayers for relief. You should be putting up trees and lights, not just a fight to be.
You should be watching holiday movies, not everything fall apart like it does every year. Right on beat. Like the little drummer boy promised to be.
It should be different. You should be different. But no amount of medication and therapy has made a difference. You can't buy happiness, that much is clear.
It's the same old routine year after year after year. After. Year. And when the cold ice thaws you may feel fine. But, much like the weather, it always comes back bigger and better.
But not better for you. Weathering the storm like you always do. But how long before it breaks? How long before it takes and takes and takes every part of you that you hold dear?
you're still here.
You keep swinging like a fighter desperate for redemption. It's worth mention.
Darling, despite it all.