December

What was once homey and neat, fun for amusement is now left bare, empty and discarded.
It's cold and empty and I shiver. It is a month without you. I do not bear it with a grin, but I endure it. I know that, as with every Winter, there comes Spring and Summer and the bountiful life it bestows.

Through these stark barren halls I speak my words to you. They ring echoing back to me, my voice no consolation to your absence. I've no blanket to cover me, no food to satiate my hunger. A constant dripping from a rusty faucet is my water source. I must the rot of a house and feel the cold of night more than the damp cold of day.

Snow or no snow, you are not here. I miss you and that is all that I can do.