Winter afternoons

Afternoons.
*sigh*
Afternoons are not good times. These days. I believe it is the weather, the atmosphere, the routine that has an effect. For, winter afternoons signal the end of the day, the imminent setting of the sun, and the nearby transition to darkness, and evening, and cold.
Hence, they depress me.
Every afternoon finds me curled up in the corner, staring at the artificial flames, seeing past them, feeling so much all at once, and my body trembles with sobs, harsh sobs that may or may not hold tears.
Or, under the heavy quilt, which sees and hears and feels me then and at night, and tries to hug me into itself, tries to comfort me, warm me, and yet, the dying sun has set – and I am warm on the outside, but still cold inside.

I wait for times when memories will bring only smiles. And perhaps a tender touch of wistfulness.

I miss her, who hugs me only with words, and that is better than any bear hug.
I miss him, who wishes and waits and whose path I embellish with flower petals.