Winter doesn’t agree with me. It makes my bones creak, my breath stale, my body so cold, that layers upon layers of clothing have no effect.
I always tremble. I always shiver until I am unable to speak.
That is why the city folk thinks me insane, their children call me a witch. I can’t blame them, really.
To them I am an old woman walking around with her cart, mumbling to herself, and shivering, constantly shivering.
The cops have tested me for drugs. Several times, and were surprised that I was clean.
I don’t mind it when they do that. I am warm for those few moments when I get tested. I cherish that.
I hate being turned out on the streets again. They say I can stay in shelters, but I’m not going near them. Bad people are there… Men with no compassion for old ladies who had a home, once…
In case you wonder about my mental faculties, I can tell you this: I am not senile. My mind is in tip top shape, thank you.
I am just old and alone. I carry my last possessions in a trolley I used for shopping when I had a home, and a husband, and a dog.
That was before the word foreclosure entered my life. I hate that word. I hate the man that brought that word into my life… What was his name… I can’t remember his name… Did it start with an M? I think so..?
I hope for the day where I find a thick coat at the church we used to go to. I hope that it will be big and so thick it keeps me warm during the coldest nights.
Until then, I will walk with my trolley rolling behind me, shivering until I speak nonsense. Until the cops pick me up again. I cherish that day already, being able to find warmth while they pull blood from my veins…
Winter will be gone soon. Or I will be… Yes.
It’s between you and me, cold wind that bites into my skin. It’s between you and me, long, dark nights where I huddle in my blanket, waiting for the sun to come again… It’s between…

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