On days too cold I like to be by myself. In some way I furtively enjoy how the frigid needles sting my skin and pierce my body. The cold hurts with such precision, it's almost as though it understands exactly how I want to feel my pain. Humble, fading and free of embellishments. Strong enough to etch the parts that have gone limp and can feel no more. Eating away bits of my apathy, breaking the cohesion of its morbidity and persistence. And after the stings fade and the pain grows faint, like a September evening, it warms me up. Accentuating my being and making me feel alive.