I'll think, if winter comes, no wait, when winter comes,
because it will, (the rotation of the seasons hasn't failed
me yet) I'll be back in control. It'll be free time, cold hands,
cold kisses. It'll be my safewarmandsecure coat in the woods
in Queens with a beer in my hand (drinks never get warm in
the winter like they do in the summer, because every thing's
so cold, which is awesome cause I hate warm beer!). It'll be
crystal breath and red high in everyone's cheeks.
People are more beautiful in wintertime.

Matt tells me this winter it won't snow. I haven't wrapped
my head around why I'm so despondent. (to sit down and
think about it requires time that I don't have). He tells me,
while we sit on the back porch smoking cigarettes, waiting
for the methadone to kick in, that the snow insulates us-
quiet and serene.
It makes me scared to think that winter may be different.
It makes me scared to think hat while winter usually grounds
me- the cold like slap in the face (stunning for a moment, and
then subduing)- this winter may not be the same. Witout my
seasonal grounding, I'm afraid of that well-learned downward spiral .

In winter I'm invincible. Paralyzed by cold instead of fear.