On the 22nd of December, the shortest day of the year, I announce the death of the sun. It seems appropriate that it decided to perish in the day that is the darkest, as to be bowing to the darkness in submission. Now all that is left is a tiny pile of ash.
However, the good news is that from now on, very slowly, it will just get lighter.
Not because of each others embrace it is the warmest winter in years that will protect us from the cold. And from that white snow of betrayal.
It is the turning point. We walk in different directions… in dark. cold. mud.