DECEMBER 21ST, 2016

How can one thing be so intricate? So definite, when they are made the same? A spider's web is made of the same silk, but never the same patterns. The water will drip and the icicles will never form the same. Every snowflake has a different mix of feelings and looks. 

My mind bustles with small pulses, thoughts of winter fills me to the brim with tears. I should’ve built a dam. I want to get down on my knees, praying to the ones that cursed me. Like I have so many times before, all in vain of the change. 

The vein on my neck pops, giving texture to my porcelain skin. Slowly changing from the black skin that once painted me. I’m still made of the same things, I’m still me. It starts at my toes, spidering up my legs and fingertips, turning me into the frost that paints the windows. Maybe this year I’ll finally break. 

The feeling is crushing, clouding my mind with the fog of dead leaves and pumpkin pie. My taste buds have long since died at the hands of the mind that caused me this. What I would give to have hot soup once again. Feel the steam of the broth in my throat, sliding down my permanent glass body. 

The bustling streets of cars honking and people yelling bring me back to the cafe that I sit in. I curl my fingers around the cup that sits in front of me, desperate for the heat I can no longer feel. My stomach turns, please, it whispers. 

I let out a shaky breath snaking down my spine like a soft breath. My bones weary from wearing the heavy skins of heat. My feet longed for the soft carpet of snow and not the thick heavy books they are trapped in. 

“We are going to be closing soon.” Someone small and quiet talked with such demand, carrying so much in her small voice. A coffee pot held carelessly between her fingers, the others splayed under it for support. She reminded me of someone I had met, decades ago. My teeth grind, threatening to break out of my skull and my eyebrows furrowed. 

Her face mimicked my own - don’t feel. I forced my heart to fix itself back into the small hole in my chest. Her face settled back into her small features, a smile placed carefully back on her face. 

I went back to placing my hands around my coffee, bringing my arms as close to me as possible. I forgot what it was like to be cold, to be anything; my eyes scan the room. Mahogany painted wood branched up the wall stopping halfway giving way to a light green color. Light white plastic tables and chairs littered the floor. Fans hang from the ceiling, the same dark brown as a walnut tree. 

I placed some spare change on the table and headed out the door. My face was met with a brisk chill of early December. People called cabs on my left and others walked briskly down the sidewalk covered in cold rain. 

My face was pelted in cold water, drawing my attention to the sky. I almost wanted to apologize for the rain, but the pity was turned back on me. At least they can feel it. I cleared my throat and shook off my thoughts, they ran down my bones and placed themself in my toes. Soon it would be hard to move without the constant reminders. 

My eyes longed for the sight of my cabin, locked away between the trees of the busy city. The only reminders of my feelings, or lack thereof, were the birds that called and sang. 

I began my journey, my feet chasing each other down the street. I could call a cab, sure, but what’s a little walking to someone who only ever feels tired? My eyes trained on my shoes, black and soleless. The cloth was torn at the sides and the tops by my toes. I’m sure almost half the bottom is gone as well.

Why would I mind? No one ever notices anyhow, not that I can feel the cold cement under me. The sun soon turned the sky a forbidding kind of gray, the one weighted down with unwelcoming. After a few miles it was eaten entirely by the horizon, starting a new day in a new place, without those of us left here. 

I won't reach my house until nightfall tomorrow, headlights of passing cars light my way. Or at least they would, if they stayed so late. A car slows to my right as I keep walking, my feet now mechanical in the motions. 

“Hey, what are you doing out here so late?” A man leans over in his small car, his eyes piercing into my skin. 

A shook my head, “I’ll be fine, you continue on your way.” I kept my eyes off the road, maybe in another life I would’ve felt petrified. Maybe freezing, maybe I would’ve done the sensible thing and taken a cab. But that life is not one that I have lived for millenia. Still, sometimes the emotions seize me and force my play. Like it had in the coffee shop.  

“Hey, come on don’t be stupid. It’s cold and wet outside. Let me drive you home.” His voice was cold and forceful, like he was trying to convince me to get in the car with him. I wish people would mind their own business. My stomach flipped like a little hamster running a little too fast on its wheel — I was thrown. 

He brought his car to a complete stop behind me. Illuminating my shadow, it loomed before me, three times bigger than I actually was. Distorted in the low light, connecting to me by my feet. I lifted one of them, placing the figure in the pose a ballerina would take. 

The man slammed the door behind me, jamming me back into my body. Distracted by the thoughts of earlier times. I whirled and looked at him as he inched closer, he hugged his arms as the wind took the corners of his jacket and lifted them to the air. 

A smile lifted my lips, if I squint really hard I could almost imagine them as little wings. A fairy, one to come with kindness?

“Don’t be stupid, I’m not going to let you walk out here by yourself. Come on, if I can’t drop you off, at least come home, with me.” His voice vibrated with warning and venom.

He brought something out of his pocket, small and narrow. His words were carried away with the wind as my heart rate increased. I know what will happen, still the image of what took place before me was startling. 

Nope. A loud bang left my ears ringing as he pulled the trigger. I flinched, ready to take in the impact of something I knew would never come. The bullet hit me just under my ribs to my left. Snow was thrown from where it was hit, and exploded like powder. 

The rain instantly turned to hail bigger than golf balls, pelting both him and me. Like little balls of angry being thrown from the sky Gods, though, I am the sky Gods. My mind flushed and I was greeted with a pit of nothingness growing inside. Don’t, my mind warned but it was already too late. 

He brought his hand up to shield himself from the painful ice, retreating to his car. As soon as the door shut behind him and I heard the click of the seat belts my eyes followed him until he was a few seconds away from me. 

I screamed, in my head. The wind grew rapidly around me but I stayed planted, like a tree with firm roots. The hail came faster and with more purpose. His car hit and spun out into the ditch, tipping and laying belly up toward the rain. I continued on my way as cries for help echoed from his car, not a soul will see you. Not until tomorrow. 

My house looms over the hill, sitting in between hoards of trees and hidden by their leaves. Its exterior is made of thick lumber with a chimney splitting the center of the small place. This place is what would now be called a studio. All open, the only walls are those that divide it from the outside and the inside. 

The sun sets again between the trees, sharing its rays spilling gold and orange over the floor crowded with leaves. It all feels so ethereal. I walk into the place, candles where the electricity would be. Some people don’t know what it's like to live without it. A shiver ripples down my spine, and my face twists, scrunching my nose. 

DECEMBER 22TH, 2016

Why are things so different now? Still, they stay exactly the same. I’ve watched many things go in and out of style, most things never really fading. The way people talk and think about others still grips society by its balls. Why can’t people just let others live their lives?

It’s been a while, I haven’t been able to bring myself to write. At least not in the way I would like. Even now I can feel my own drawing to this notepad I keep hidden in my desk fading. Like morning fog. I can’t help but wonder, what will become of it? 

My nose itches with the scent of cedar as the dry season takes hold. All I can say is, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for the loss that everyone will have to endure this winter, every living thing. I glide my feet across the wooden floor, not paying a second thought to splinters. 

Who cares? I wouldn’t even feel them. My feet are heavy now with porcelain, it has spidered all the way up to my kneecaps by now. My ankles are impossible to move save for the little screeching hingle placed on the inside. Even while I’m in so much pain the work is never done, right? 

I drag myself to the mirror, carefully studying the features placed so carefully onto my body. I don't know why I feel the need to do this, it's so pointless. After a while I will wake up with a different face anyways. A different body, different cravings. How tedious. 

The birds tick on my window, I have not left my place in days. What need do I have? I bring my hand up, heavy with the promise of snow. No- I can’t break, not just yet. Someone else will take over me soon, not me, but still me.

I wish I could be in control all of the time but there are four different seasons, all dramatically different from the other. It only makes sense that there would be more than one person. I slip on my shoes, overcome with the feeling of dread. I wish I could grab my own shoulders and shake me awake screaming. You’re not dead! You're not dying!

Somehow it still feels like it, every year. My feet shuffle out of the door, dragging the morning dew with me. It springs up and touches like a feather onto my legs. Birds no longer hum with excitement, drawing all the way down to your bones but flock with purpose. They will leave me too. Nothing more but a few owls and shivering squirrels to keep my company, every so often a passing deer comes to my house for safety. 

I’m sorry. I coil my arms around me, wrapping like a slinky. The breeze is tired and calm today. Not much energy in the wind, or the sun. It droops in the sky, lazaly painting on the white canvas sky. Even the blues were too sad to take claim of it. 

I’m feeling again. I’m sorry. I really don’t mean to, I don't mean to force you into my own emotions, somehow I can’t help it. What you call seasonal depression, I call life. Water hovers above my eyelids. Fists full of harsh words shove down my throat, staking claim to my voice. 

A wail escapes me, the wind bursts and the sky starts to drop. I can hear it now, I can’t wait for winter to be done. I never liked it. It's too cold to do anything. I wish it would just stop. I am so sad. 

The rain comes down harder, freezing on the trees forcing them into a slumper of their own. The ground shakes with ice and water mixing together like water and oil. I ran back inside, my feet heavy on the soil, I swear they were making prints into the ground as though I weigh a million pounds. 

The door slams behind me, spooking the birds that surround my cabin. I climb into my bed, my thoughts and fears drag down to the bottom parts of me. Maybe I am a weight. I curl into myself feeling the damp coolness of my body and porcelain. A heavy sigh escapes my lips, cracking thunder and rods of light down from the sky. 

I used to call you heaven, but I’m not sure I believe in such things anymore. 

DECEMBER 23TH, 2016 

How many times can you say something before it sounds like gibberish? That’s what it is though, isn’t it? Sounds that we give meaning to. Why only those ones? Who’s to tell me what is and isn’t a word?

I long to look back on the filled pages of you, but that is forbidden, even though they are memories from…myself. They are not mine, can never be mine. I only wish to see how the others handle their seasons. 

I wish to stay strapped to my bed surrounded with pleasurable candles and fuzzy blankets. If I could I would, though I fear I would never stop. Bitterness would lay on my tongue and infest my brain if I eat. I feel it would do the same if I look at the previous pages. 

My eyes graze the window to find that the ground is already blanketed in light snow, covering the trees in the way that makes my heart sing. I watch a deer pass by a few yards away, his antlers covered in the same likeness, not yet fallen with the snow. He bends down, looking for something to snack on. I run to my fridge and pull an apple that I left overnight to crip over (not for me of course). 

I ran out the door, careful to not slam the door behind me, I wouldn’t want to scare the thing. I creep as close as I can, my feet bare in the snow creating little craters where I have been. He perks his head up and spots me, dropping low ready to run. I plop down onto the ground, feeling the snow melt and mingle with my nightgown. 

His eyes darted and I held out the apple, a small smile tugging the corners of my lips. 

“You can have it.” My voice comes out horace and scratchy from the lack of use. I quietly clear my throat and hold it higher and farther from me. “I don’t need it.” I say in a softer, lighter tone. 

He inches forward like a cloud. The soft crunch of the snow under his feet is the only noticeable thing that he has in fact moved. After what felt like an hour he was standing next to me, his neck stretched out to sniff the object that layed in my hand. 

Carefully he took a bite, chewing happily on the apple. I cooed at him, making soft and soothing sounds, he probably doesn't know what they mean. But my voice is soft so he gladly lays next to me resting his head on my lap. 

My heart jumps and the sun emerges from the clouds, like in a movie when the people finally found what they have been looking for. The sky swallows blues and the sun was a winter white, beaming on everything below. The wind turned warm and the snow began to shift under me, melting in the rays. 

We stayed like that until the sun was blanketed by the horizon and the creature said its goodbyes, prancing off into the forest. I watched, tears froze in my eyes and the wind returned with a vengeance. Please don’t leave me. 

My mind whispered so quietly I could barely hear it, though, I could feel it through the whipping blizzard that was approaching. The window was covered in the blackness of the sky and the snow that fell passed it. The inside felt almost colder than it was out there. I struck a match, accidentally bringing my finger too close to the box. It scrapped and scarred the porcelain that covered me. 

My brows ran into each other as I glared at it. A sinking feeling in my stomach, pulling my colon all the way down to my toes like a rubber band. Now all I have to do is wait for it to snap. 

So I say to myself; Bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl. Until I lose my mind. Though, I think I already have… maybe I will be able to find it! Bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl, bowl.

DECEMBER 24TH, 2016

Why does the wind still blow even while I am too heavy to move? My body is now almost covered in porcelain. It covered my body like a heavy shell waiting to hatch something new, something beautiful. Something that is not me. 

My mind is weighted down just like my toes, it takes too much effort to move them. Even now as I sit here at this desk my thoughts are dragging out and into my pen dipped heavily with ink. One of my eyes is now blind covered with the frost that lines the windows — a temporary frost fern. 

Only part of my dark skin still shows, my right eye still looking at the words with ‘normal’ glasses. My friend still shows up to see me, in hopes of food. He even brings his friends sometimes. Only one antler stands tall on him, stubborn to fall. Like the snow, I have yet to break. The ground is coated with ice, I watch as he slips and regains his footing over and over again for the last couple of days. 

I suspect the others he brings with him are his family, his mate and his fawn (if that’s not his fawn I will be extremely worried about its parents). His fur is dotted with white spots like the snow I refuse to let fall. It nibbled on my hand, too early to understand how to move its mouth in a purposeful way. 

It’s been a few days since I’ve seen them though. I hope they are okay. It’s either that or I just have been blind to them, though I suppose I will be soon enough. 

I still have yet to leave my cabin. My heart dims with loneliness, am I ever truly alone? They are all with me, even if I can’t see, hear, or remember anything about them. Like a ghost leaning heavily on the pillars of this place. Never scratching the outside of the house. 

 I want to let loose all of my thoughts and my fears and my monsters. What would everyone think? I can already hear them, I hate this. Why is the ice so harsh? If there is no snow on Christmas I will be so upset. Why is it so cold, if it’s going to be this cold there could at least be snow. I swear if it snows I will quit, everything. 

Why can’t I win? I just want to be as liked as all of the other seasons. At least I have Christmas on all of them. I snicker to myself and a weak smile tugs at the corner of my lips. I don’t want to move, though. If I do that’s just one more movement closer to my breaking. Even writing this is risky. 

I imagine my fingers breaking, the inside of me being as hollow as it feels. Nothing but a small vase with nothing planted inside, filled with old dried dirt with no purpose. Cracking with infertility. I could almost imagine myself as a beautiful porcelain plate. Painted with blue flowers and floral decorations spidering up my legs on my chest and decorating my cheeks like a cold blush. The blush of the cold temperatures. 

I glance out the window, decorated in the same way as my vision. Icicles hang from the bare trees like little chimes, formed by the harsh winds and cold rain of me. All that filled my mind was the small animals that had already been killed from the harshness of me. All the things that had happened, the horrible things that I used to not clutter my mind. The cars, the planes, the power outages. 

My eyes are burning and my stomach twists. I beg for myself to stop, get a grip, have a little bit of self control. My mind sputters, for the split second that I give to the thought of letting go - I explode. Tears run down my face like a waterfall pushing towards oblivion. 

My face doesn't yet register that I have let go, given my body the smallest sliver of permission. My face contorts the smallest bit, only the brow on my right eye moved. The rest of me was too heavy to move and too tired to even entertain that idea. 

The sky rages and whistles, a sigh of relief to the breath long held. The chimes held onto the tree by a thread ring, singing in place of the birds who have long since gone. It turns a dark gray color, like a vacuum sucking in all of the light. The snow rages on around me throwing fists against the walls. 

My mind seethed and my blood ran colder than ice, and I let the tears spill from my face. Why am I like this? Why am I so repulsive? Please, I don’t want to be me anymore. How can I change when I can’t pick one thing? All of them need to go. I’m supposed to be cold and unfeeling, so why do I have so many emotions? 

I think I have convinced myself that I was the most feeling one of us all. At least now you have snow on your precious Christmas. Don’t worry about my own feelings…

DECEMBER 31ST, 2016

Why are new year's resolutions so popular? Why not just pick any day to start what you want to do? Why wait? What is the purpose in that? Some parts of me still can’t believe I will still be here for another three months. I could just sleep, no one would notice I’m not here. 

Still, I’ve been crying for the last few weeks on and off. Who knew someone could have so many tears when they dont drink water. Where do they come from? I’m certain that I have been crying out bits of my consciousness, of my soul. Bleeding through my eyes with no mercy as the wind and snow whips around me with the same wrath as when it started. 

A knock echoed through me like a pebble on still water. I swing the door open and a figure looms above me. He holds my gaze in blue eyes, he is wider than that of the door frame though. It is quite small. 

I cleared my throat and waited for him to speak, he stood like a deer in headlights. I couldn’t even see the rise and fall of his chest. I looked him up and down, jeans hugged his waits and a thick jacket slung to him with the help of the wind. I offer a small smile, something hard squeezed my rib cage with an iron grip.

“Hey,” he said with an unsteady voice, I had to take a breath to keep myself from laughing. “I was just wondering, because I didn’t see any signs but I saw this.” He gestured to the cabin and the surrounding area. 

I looked at him with glossy eyes, I could hardly see him as it was. I squinted at him trying to figure out what he was suggesting. 

A heavy sigh escaped him, “Can I hunt here or not? I can give you some of my game.” My mind fluttered to the deer that I had made friends with. I sucked in my teeth weighing what he had said. 

“No, but you can hunt in the area a few miles down,” I pointed to my right and the huddle of trees they keep in the corner. “And no deers.” 

He seemed taken aback at the request but nodded and headed on his way. I watched him disappear into the woods and not come back out for another few hours. He was covered in snow offering profanities as he walked by my house not sparing another glance. Not carrying anything but his gun. 

JANUARY 19TH, 2017

He just won't leave. I have no room in my mind for anything else. He caught me outside one of the days wearing nothing but my nightgown. I suppose to him it would be insane to see that of a person, but I haven’t had anyone show care. Ever. 

He leaves little gift baskets of food, mostly containing jams, crackers and the like. One time he brought fresh bread and muffins. I haven't the heart to tell him I can’t eat it. I won't. But this is the 7th day in a row that it’s happened. 

I end up feeding them to my friends, the little deer that hang around my house. I think he has caught me doing it once because the next day I received a lot more fruits and vegetables than usual. 

I watch him outside my window, I think he believes because of our last interaction he is welcome here. I can’t decide if I want him here either. Surely it’s entertaining, watching him from afar, like a movie I will never be a part of. 

He finds me, looking at him. Even through the ferns overlapping my vision I can still make out the orange coat he always seems to wear. I can’t tell what his face is doing but I catch it in my direction a lot. Maybe he doesn’t notice I watch him. 

I hardly notice the coldness in my heart or feet any longer, the only thing that tells me I am in fact a season in the porcelain skin and the ferns. The sky seems to be a lighter shade of blue and the temperatures are nicer, warmer, and kinder. 

Maybe I don’t have to be the hated season everyone seems to think of me as. I laugh to myself and bring my eyes back up the window. I jump and the wind whips, clouds start to shake the sky and the snow begins falling rapidly. He stands just on the other side, waving his hands. 

A knock sounds again and I rush to it and swing it open almost hitting me in the face. He stands stifling a laugh on the other side of the door and I quietly invite him in. Though, he has now been here for days. Keeping my company. I wonder what is driving him to stay.

Even now as I write this I can feel his eyes as a burning sensation on the back of my neck. He seems to love to talk, he never stops. Talking with a drunken meanor like he never gets to at his home. I wonder how long he will stay. 

FEBRUARY 11TH, 2017 

How many times a day do I have to handle such rejection? He never stops, so persistent and honestly getting kind of annoying. 

He keeps asking me to be his valentines? I have no energy to write in the manner I usually do so you will just have to keep up. My brain is running faster than my pen and is heavier than the ink I dip it in. 

What is a valentines? I have to really keep up with holidays, I usually know of all the ones in my season but this one just seemed to slip my mind. He told me it was a holiday for love. One where you just go around appreciating the person you love. 

“That sounds so stupid,” I said turning away from him. I could see him in the corner of my eyes, his face contorted and he scrunched his features together. Almost as if he was disappointed.

“I don’t know why you need a day for that. That should just be everyday, otherwise do you really love the other person if you can’t appreciate them everyday?” I ask, my arms crossed, leaning on one another. They felt so heavy, like sanded weights. 

“Yes, but sometimes people's lives get in the way and it's easier to spend a day with their loved ones instead of a few minutes every week.” I scoffed, too tired to argue. If they did love them then it wouldn’t be a problem to show it every chance they get. Or do I just not understand this? 

He doesn’t seem to know what personal space is, people these days are strange. I just have one question I have a feeling will never get answered. Why? Why do you care so much about someone who you know so little about? Are you lonely?

I didn't know where to write this so the bottom of this entry will have to do. She always seems to be writing in you and telling you everything. As far as I can tell you are her best friend. I feel crazy writing this, don’t worry though, I didn’t read anything, no that's too private, I’m not snoopy. Anyways tomorrow I will be taking her out of here, this house I mean. I don’t think she leaves much and it’s always so cold here I swear my fingers are turning blue. I’m going to take her to a nice heated restaurant. Maybe then she will stop looking at me like an alien. I don’t even know why I’m talking to you like a person, you’re not. But you are to her, you’re so important and I can’t wrap my head around why. But I just thought you should know …

FEBRUARY 24TH, 2017 

What does it mean to be loved? No really, I’m asking because I’m confused. I haven’t talked to people in decades but this man just can’t seem to leave me alone. 

He took me out to a restaurant the other night, I didn’t have the heart to tell him I can’t won’t eat. It all tastes like cold wax in my throat anyways, where is the appeal? I have been signing more now. Why does he burden himself with me? What is he gaining through this?

Still, he sits in my lounge resting his head on his hands and nose deep within a book. Nestled in the corner of the couch with his legs sprawled out I think his eyes flick to mine, no. Maybe I was hallucinating. Maybe his eyes are just engraved in my mind now. As much as I look at those crystals it would be hard to believe that I could forget them so soon. 

I hope he leaves soon though. I can’t imagine what I would think about him in a month. Soon, well, soon I won't be me. How do I explain that to him? How would he ever be able to wrap his feeble mind around that? 

“You should go- I don’t want to be in the way of your life. What of your family? They must miss you.” I had said to him once. 

“Why do you keep trying to push me away?” His eyes were on the floor but I couldn’t help but look at the way light reflected off of his dark skin. My throat grew tight and I swallowed my words. What? 

“Look, if you want me gone just say that and I’ll go. If you want me to stay, you have to stop pushing me, or at least tell me what is going on in there.” His finger tapped my temple and I shivered. Ah yes, touch deprivation. 

“I don't, I don’t want you to go but I know it will be easier for us both. I’m not exactly as simple as I seem.” My mouth drew into a line and I could feel the storm bubbling up inside of my lungs spitting hail.

He laughed, “You Ada, are anything but simple.” I recoiled, what did he mean by that? Am I really so out of touch with humanity that I get offended by this? Am I crazy? I should get out more… Isn’t that what he’s suggesting though? Do I really want him to go?

Still, I didn’t turn him away and I think he picked up on that because he is still coming around. He still gets me food baskets to feed to my friends though I haven't the heart to tell him I haven't seen them in a few days so I’ve just been throwing it in the woods. 

MARCH 19TH, 2017

When the seasons change and the people you once loved go cold, where will that leave you? Heavy, dragging your feet in the mold. 

How do I tell him? How do I tell him that I won't be the same tomorrow? That I could still look the same but my skin will shead like a snake and my mind will renew during the night? How could I tell him to leave when I think I love him? 

I know, that's too soon, my mother would say but he has proven himself so. My heart aches writing this as he still lays motionless in my bed. He has been sleeping over for the last few weeks. No advances were made, just his company with my own. Though, at times it is awkward, I don’t exactly sleep anymore…

The sun has yet to rise and I know the blizzard outside matches the one inside my head. It clouds everything you know? I can’t see straight. I could tell him to come back next year when I will be myself again. That I only stay here in the winter seasons, but what if he comes by and sees someone here again? Who looks like me? 

I don’t want to lie, when will they stop slipping through my throat like ice? How can I make my heart stop stretching like putty? I fear to look into his eyes, he would surely see the big question mark in them. 

My mind screams, IT HAPPENS TOMORROW!  Make up your mind! He seemed deflated, defeated. As though every word I had said was a needle into his balloon consciousness. 

“I need you to leave. I need you to promise me you wont come back until this coming December. Until the 21st.”

“What is this? Some kind of test to see if I still love you? No, I’m not doing that. I love you okay? I do, don’t push me away, please.” He cut me off, gripping my hands in his own. 

“I leave to go visit my mother, I only stay here for a little time. Only through the winter solstice. In that time someone's house sits here, they cannot see you. They are not as kind as me.” I am both appalled and happy at how quickly the lie comes. 

“Let me go with you.” He pleads. My throat goes dry and I can't bear to look at him any longer. 

“No, she won't accept you. She doesn't want me to have any relations of any sorts.” I turn my eyes, waiting for the tears to break my cover. They never come, I guess the winds are in my favor today. “Please, just do as I say.” 

He turned towards the door, his hand resting on the knob, “I will be back for you, Ada.” I nod and whisper a quick I love you, maybe too quick. He turns his head and runs out into the blizarding storm. 

It was too quick, I can’t help but curse time and the little amount it gave us. I had only known him for a few months but it feels like years. Who is to give me a time limit on the amount of love that I can feel anyway? 

My skin felt like glass, the porcelain clung to me like heated plastic. My tears melted wax, it burned holes into me. Or maybe it was the absence of him? What does love even feel like anyway? If it’s a hole in the place where my organs should be then I definitely feel love. 

Finally, for once in my many long years. I feel tired. 

I felt the bed sag next to me and the familiar body heat next to me. It curled around me, holding the shell of my body. I can feel myself being ripped to the back of my brain. Spring claws ripping my cries digging her toe nails into my eyes blinding me for the next three seasons. It's her turn now. I felt instantly calm. What is that? I’m too tired to rip my eyes open and besides, I am already back asleep. 

MARCH 21ST, 2017

Yesterday was so surreal. How amazing, though. I have never held someone in my hands before. Their heart beating- for me? I’ve been locked away in here for too long. How can someone not go crazy? I’m not crazy. Am I? 

The day started out normal, the things I had never wished to see I found myself wanting needing. I can still taste him on my tongue. A smile is splitting my face so hard that my cheeks are cracking from the egg shell porcelain that still entraps me. 

I can feel the laughter cracking up into my throat. I wonder what words this mouth has uttered since my absence. What places these feet have brought me to when my consciousness was buried beneath another. 

My hand itches, maybe that’s because of the red honey that sticks to me, sweet and metallic. I saved no time, I tried to entertain him for a day. He kept muttering crazy absenities like please stay and I love you.

I scoffed, he doesn’t even know me. Still, it was fun while it lasted. I tried to act like how I imagine winter would but I grew bored too quickly. 

A cold shiver claims me, rippling down my spine. The echo of his screams still stuck in my ear drums like cotton candy, delicious. Oh how I wish to press it deeper, lodging it in my brain playing it on repeat. It gives me a strange sense of accomplishment. It's almost consuming, I can’t even stop myself from planning another. 

I can still feel his touch, his fingertips cold on my skin. It almost felt familiar… I’m smiling now as I write this, I can see his body in my peripheral, the floor is stained, maybe I should’ve laid down a tarp. It reached the couch that I never sit in anyways, now I have a reason not to. 

He didn’t even fight back, how lame. He just looked up at me with big blue eyes begging for me to stop. By then it was too late, I was already drunk with blood lust. It’s a drug, you know. 

I can’t wait to get back to normalities. A cabin in the woods, so secluded, so far from… anything. Besides, who do you think chose this place? 

My mind is ripping as easy as paper, shredding itself to be the new me. I can still feel the heat of him. The bliss of it all. When will winter learn to not take these people into her care? To not let them stay? 

No, I’ve been gone too long. The world is the one that will have to suffer for that. You can’t bring new life, without a lot of death.