Seasonless Heart

There are four seasons in the world, but my life is always winter. Feet trembling, legs cold, hands freezing — barely anything left to hold on to. Tomorrow feels doubtful. No one to look after, no one to look for — just to live, just to see. Why is it always winter? Why does everything I touch turn to frost? Why can’t I find warmth — a fall, a spring? I don’t want to live where it’s cold, where it rains, where summer burns. I want fall — at least fall. I believe I deserve that.