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.