Ice crusted snow crunching underfoot, sickly yellow light of streetlamps.
The buildings are dark, the campus empty, all the boisterous day gone now.
My lungs ache as they are filled with cold air, condensed breaths signal the stars.
I want to be in her arms, cuddled up together in bed, safe behind the door, in the dark.
Trudging alone, no earbuds or music, just the quiet night so I can here The Devil coming.
The winter is his season, and the one I know so well, so comfortable burning in.
The quiet, when the worst voices come, relentless and bitter, with sharp faces.
A clink of a cloven hoof, a swish of a pointed tale, but I won’t hurry or show fear.
She is waiting in our apartment, with some soup and bread and unsweetened tea.
She will welcome me in. She loves me. We’ve both slain demons to make it this far.
The Devil will not win. Spring will be here soon.