hibernation

Levitate.

Fly away, or your feet will touch the ground and you will never, never, never, be free again.

The heady scent of moonshine twines through the air as I dance.

The cold bites at my skin, slithers beneath and settles, like a spider-silk web, in the crevices between my bones and flesh.

I hibernate within my mind.

Time passes in a daze, and the day begins again.

The shore of my ocean has long passed high tide and become a tsunami - of ice and wind, of rain and hail and storms.

Then, quiet, as water stills, falls silent. A halting of thought, of being, of feeling in the wake.

It is as though I am huddled before the window to my life; the door sits slightly ajar behind me but I am so lost in thought, fingers tracing the path of rain down icy glass, that I have not seen it.

As I lay prone, sweating and paralysed beneath the covers, the thought touches me, just once;

time is a coward who only runs away, and I am exhausted from the chase.