I have lost my way on Winter Hill.
It’s getting colder. The snow falls thicker than ever. It covers the ground’s face with a spotless veil. The snow will hide what happened; the snow will help me forget. The snow will make everything clean and white again.
It covers my footprints. It wipes out where I’ve been. I hope it erases the signs pointing in my direction. But it can’t erase what I’ve done.
I look to the cold, grey sky and let the snow fall on my face. It’s cool and cleansing against my eyelids. I open my eyes and for a moment it feels like I’m floating upwards. But my feet haven’t left the ground and the snow is falling down towards me. The weak winter’s sun still won’t warm me, as if it were holding me at arm’s length.
The snow makes everything still and hushed again. It’s so beautiful up here, even though, lying beneath the pristine white, all of nature is treading close to death. But at least the fields and the trees and will come back to life.
There are icicles hanging from the branches. I read somewhere that if you take an icicle and plunge it into someone’s heart it will melt away to nothing, taking the proof with it. Where do these thoughts keep coming from? I think there’s already ice in my heart, running through my veins, freezing my thoughts.
Below me, the fields are laid out like blank pages from an exercise book. A clean start.
It’s getting colder.
Even in a blizzard, snow doesn’t fall hard – it’s always soft. The flakes dance around me, like frozen feathers from a burst pillow, or a swarm of crystalline flies. Countless flakes; each one different, each one beautiful, each one precious. But they’re too much; they fill my vision and I can’t see the way anymore.
Red on the white, melting through the snow.
The snow hides, but it also preserves. Beneath the snow, the truth will remain, waiting for the thaw. Cold silence will sustain it and worsen it, like an unresolved argument between two unspeaking lovers.
The days are so short now, and the nights are so long.
I’ve lost my way on Winter Hill.
I don’t know how long I’ve been up here.
I hope it whites out. I want the cold to make me forget and make everyone forget me.
I took off my coat and boots hours ago.
When the spring comes people will remember.
It’s getting colder. The snow falls thicker than ever. It covers the ground’s face with a spotless veil. The snow will hide what happened; the snow will help me forget. The snow will make everything clean and white again.
It covers my footprints. It wipes out where I’ve been. I hope it erases the signs pointing in my direction. But it can’t erase what I’ve done.
I look to the cold, grey sky and let the snow fall on my face. It’s cool and cleansing against my eyelids. I open my eyes and for a moment it feels like I’m floating upwards. But my feet haven’t left the ground and the snow is falling down towards me. The weak winter’s sun still won’t warm me, as if it were holding me at arm’s length.
The snow makes everything still and hushed again. It’s so beautiful up here, even though, lying beneath the pristine white, all of nature is treading close to death. But at least the fields and the trees and will come back to life.
There are icicles hanging from the branches. I read somewhere that if you take an icicle and plunge it into someone’s heart it will melt away to nothing, taking the proof with it. Where do these thoughts keep coming from? I think there’s already ice in my heart, running through my veins, freezing my thoughts.
Below me, the fields are laid out like blank pages from an exercise book. A clean start.
It’s getting colder.
Even in a blizzard, snow doesn’t fall hard – it’s always soft. The flakes dance around me, like frozen feathers from a burst pillow, or a swarm of crystalline flies. Countless flakes; each one different, each one beautiful, each one precious. But they’re too much; they fill my vision and I can’t see the way anymore.
Red on the white, melting through the snow.
The snow hides, but it also preserves. Beneath the snow, the truth will remain, waiting for the thaw. Cold silence will sustain it and worsen it, like an unresolved argument between two unspeaking lovers.
The days are so short now, and the nights are so long.
I’ve lost my way on Winter Hill.
I don’t know how long I’ve been up here.
I hope it whites out. I want the cold to make me forget and make everyone forget me.
I took off my coat and boots hours ago.
When the spring comes people will remember.
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