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A flock of birds feathers the surface of the water, sending ripples flying all around. My breath freezes around my mouth, clouds smoking through my lungs. Nothing is dry but the cold, cutting air inhaled in my lungs, burning through my throat.

Snow falls around me, carpeting the ground in a pure white dress. Tomorrow, it will turn to ash, mud and slush, ready to wet through my socks. Tomorrow, it will die, fleeting and exhausted, heated by tire tracks and salty throws. Tomorrow, it will be no more. But tonight, I stand in the middle of it, my awe undisturbed as it crackles under my boots, crisp and perfect in the empty streets.

My bare feet on the tiled floor scream for socks, for mercy, for anything that would shield them from the freezing surface. I shrug it off and turn the heating on; it will pass. I put on another layer, a hot pink wool jumper to fight off the looming darkness.

The spicy vapours of a scorching mug of tea tickles my nose. Books, pencils and paper are strewn about, trying to make sense of the cold world building around me. My fingers cover themselves in ink, waiting for clearer weather to bloom.

Snow grabs at my feet, little hands and arms trying to corrode my legs. I slip and slide on the black-ice-ridden roads. Cold, congealed air punches through my chest as I breathe in icicles and oxygen. I give in, following the harsh frosts pushing me towards the hardened ground.

I turn the faucet to the right. Bitter, glacial water attacks my skin as the solid soap cuts through any nicks in my hands. I wince, but I don’t turn it towards the left. I feel it, this hollow call tingling along my spine. The calm menace of winter billowing at my door. I turn the water off, somewhat clearer than what I used to be.

Everything screams for self-improvement, betterment and restraint. Surviving the cold without any scratches appearing between my fingers will already be a victory, this time around.

Snow bleeds through my back, my jacket damp and sticky. The stars fade behind the impassible fall of the glittering flakes, replaced by ephemeral splatters of water. I look through the streets, barren of any remaining life as they dance in the still, golden light of a lamppost. The wind cristallises between my hair, my ears reddening with both excitement and exasperation.

Fire breathes inside of me, threatening to break away or die down.

Up, and down. Up again, and down again. I move my body. Stretch and pull and tug and heave, muscles booming under the strain. I sweat, barely breathing, droplets dripping along my forehead. My throat blocks any air trying to get in. I should slow down. I won’t. I push myself, just a little bit, a smile unwittingly blooming and stretching my chapped lips. I can jump and run and sprint and push, even in the wind.

Around me, the ruins of ambitious resolutions are already covered in moss. Nothing will save me from disappointment as I go back to the start, once again.

Snow covers my body as I’m buried under its serene fall. Hibernation should have started a long time ago, but we never seem to stop. Sleep makes my eyes heavy and droopy; I can’t fight back.

It’s cold outside, it’s cold inside. I can’t feel my toes anymore, only my cold nerves lost under the blank canvas drawn over my body.

I close my eyes, and let the snow swallow me.