Two winters have not yet gone since I arrived in this cold place.

Though I must stay, I wish it no more.

It is cautiousness gone mad.

I abhor the cleanliness and the deliberate ambling.

The pebble-size back-stabbing.

In this very spirit, I manage one sentence per day and nothing more.

While cold, the weather is brilliantly fine.

A new face is welcome in some ghoulish way.

Who is reading this to you now?

A rabbit on your birthday?

Do you not know how much I love you?

So deep are my sighs.

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