I sit in forgotten loneliness. Nothing but me, a thin jacket, and a cold, metal bench. The park is misty with frozen moisture; I can see my breath furling into white wisps as I exhale, slowly dissolving into the darkness. Goose-pimples invade my skin, the hairs on my bare legs standing upright. I force my teeth to stop chattering, but my efforts prove worthless. So instead, I shut my eyes and listen.
The swings creek mysteriously in the dead silence; I can hear the gentle, mocking trickle of the stream, the running water flowing underneath a thin sheet of ice. That sound should belong to warm summer's day, accompanied by the laughs and shouts of friends and the bulge of a ham sandwich lodged in the inside of my cheek. I move my tongue to that area, but of course, I taste no food. Now I look up; the stars are obscured by endless mats of grey clouds, hiding even the moon's comforting light. The chilly wind bites my neck ruthlessly and I hug myself, rolling up into a ball not unlike that