It hasn’t been shining sun. No, it set a while ago.
Now it’s just night. Thick. Alive. It breathes against my neck like something hungry. The wind kicks up dead leaves, scraping them across the pavement like the restless ghosts of better days.

As I walk, the darkness consumes me. I’ve been living in a collapse so quiet you mistake it for peace. Every step feels borrowed. The darkness keeps closing in — mocking me, daring me to keep walking. The moon hangs above like an indifferent witness. It spills its cold light on the wreckage of a life that used to mean something. At least, I thought it did. The memories crawl across the floor like ants that lost the scent of home.

If you’re read this, I want you to know… Some winters don’t end on schedule. They linger longer than expected. Some winters stick around beyond their welcome. Whatever stays alongside you is sliver of warm that teaches you what warmth truly means.

Then the air changes. The drop in temperature that feels like a warning whispered through clenched teeth. Snow flurries start to sting my face. My breath fogs the air, proof I’m still here… for now. I lean into the dark, eyes straining to find a shape, a reason. Nothing. Just a swirl of leaves and snow blends into a void. It looks a lot like the part of me I keep pretending isn’t there. The dark has a way of talking when you’re alone long enough. It pulls, grips your collar, drags you toward the pit with promises you don’t want to hear. Doesn’t matter how hard you dig your heels in… it’s stronger. Been that way for a while. Too long. and yet here I am.

Somewhere beyond the frost and the silence, there’s a faint shimmer. It’s like dawn rehearsing its lines before the show. For now, I gotta deal with the plate served. Don’t be fooled. It has an end date, ain’t that right?

If you’re reading this thinking I’m exaggerating, I hope you never have to find out. Cold seasons can last longer than you imagine.

As I sit back, drift into the long winter… You’d think after all this time, I’d have learned the rhythm of the tide. But it keeps finding new ways to drown me. You don’t get it. See, I gotta be cautious when peace bubbles up. Peace is like a bubble in tar. It looks harmless until it pops. Then the acid underneath consumes what’s left of you. High alert is best… some say ‘that isn’t sustainable.’ Sure pal, but you don’t know what I’ve been through. Right about now, feels like I’m sinking into another layer of the descent… Cascading deeper into the abyss.

I’ve asked God, when will the sun break and bring its heat? When will I gain peace? Is there such a thing? And summer? I’m sure you’ve felt its heat. Me? I’ve only known the frost. Seems like God’s on a smoking break because winter has been raging. It’s been ’bout 10 years now, just me in the bitter cold.

I don’t know if faith is light or the memory of it, but I keep walking. Maybe that’s all God ever asked of us — keep walking through the cold.

So where do I start? Another night chasing shadows through that remember my sins better than I do. Every step brings back a face, a word, a wound. Maybe that’s the price for trusting too freely. People break promises the way glass breaks under pressure. What matters isn’t their cracks—It’s how you learn to walk barefoot through the shards—find your footing without getting cut. Staying vigilant wears on a man, sure—but it beats getting comfortable.

I’ve learned, the jackass is the first to become wise. That jackass is yours truly.

If you find yourself out here one day, staring into your own black sky, don’t curse the frost. Don’t curse it too much. It’s how fools like me learned to listen.

They call it soft when a man speaks on what broke him. I call it surviving out loud.