"life is but an endless winter" she declares.
nothing in this world has, and never will produce a
sense of comfort. of serenity.
she ruminates on the thought of escape,
of some day seeing summer.

you have always thought you're a ruminant.
and maybe you are.
or maybe you're an animal, an aching animal,
hopelessly seeking shelter.

now i am waiting for my departure.
this bureaucracy brings a sense of bitter comprehension.
for this is my finale, my commitment, my attempt at voyage.

the body is now limp and lifeless.
and there is no going back.
maybe what existence never brought,
will be found in death.