time of year.

I always enjoy those days in December when it’s getting too cold to breathe.

I’ll bundle up with my scarf at my throat,

pulling it tighter as seasonal depression takes another swing at me.

Being stuck inside isn’t as bad as its reputation claims,

but it gives me an excuse for twisting out a frown and lying in bed all day.

‘It’s just this time of year,’ I’ll lie, and what fools you are for believing.