Snowy

The wind came shuddering, tossing lifeless white flowers into my face. Their delicacy bruised me, every bruise a patch of numbness. Painless, I should have been happy. I was stuck in waist-high cotton, my head just seemed to be stuffed with it, my bowels as cold, my boots separated from the ground, if I fall, I'll be caught softly. Clouds would execute my burial after thick layers have muffled the past and painted a pale, unstained picture without - Yet I felt already under another blanket, not warming, either, but as white and sterile, a shelter, anyways. I will become one with my surroundings by fractions. Relax. Perfectly lost meant perfectly free. So tired. A singing of silenced melody. Lids shut. The world opened to me.