The cold is seeping in, as if it was liquid and my fingers a fabric meant for it. There is no stopping it, because the bill will be far greater than our income if we turn the dial any further. You see, the furnace is old, it doesn’t cut on, and our landlord nearly died near Christmas. He’s feeble as the limbs of the oaks outside and to ask much of a 90 year-old man who’s insides ruptured seems harsh. Like the cold that seeps in the floors and walls of this uninsulated house. So we wait for Spring, or those eerie days of warm respite from the chill. Disrespecting moments of glee in the face of Winter, who takes it out on us one day at a time. And there is no stopping her, for the furnace won’t cut on.
About
My name is Laura. I am 24, a wife, musician, and vagabond. I am of the opinion that the paths we take are processes to becoming; what we become is the result of what we are living for. What we do is what we believe. I believe in Love, and I am learning how to do so.
