I want to be told how to wear my skin

I can wander for hours in the fog and lose my own footprints in the snow. I wait till the sun has passed and the sounds of speech are no longer present. I wait all year long, just for a clear gray sky and a overchilled river and a wind that will lace my nerves with discomfort. I wait for that quiet time, to feel the warmth of silence. Where judgement waits at the beginning of may, but for now I have it all. I wait for the complaints about the weather from people who don’t know any better. I wait and wonder why they would ever want to miss it. To miss the way the snow burns my field of view, the way the clouds shield over my head, the way of solitude. I wait till the time where my plans are on hold and there is no need to be reminded of the futures I’m told will be filled with despair and anguish. Because for here there is no need for past or future tense words, it is all right in front of me.
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yeah