I Sit In The Cold.

I sit in the cold and wait for something to come that I know is a long way off. The wind snaps itself around my fingers and I can barely notice the pen that's in my hand or the nose that's on my face. I know that to truly make things real I must make sacrifices but is the sacrifices which ail me. It is too cold outside to sit and watch the world unfold. It depresses me to watch the empty trees crack and sway in the dry wind. Everything is empty and I am just cold and waiting.