I agree with the majority when they say life hits them in the face. Time comes prepared with winter clothing, while we're standing bare naked, begging for some shelter. Our bare feet touch the snow with care, while the thrones from spring are slowly making us bleed without mercy. Our eyes are crying silent tears, because the cold has decided to silence our calls for warmth. We beg for the sun with our hands, putting them forward to the trees. Life doesn't respond, it only stares back at us in the form of snow flakes.
The wind howls, preparing itself to knock us down and gather our bones when there is no skin left. We try to move, but the frostbite is making our bodies into sculptures. Our hands are frozen next to our hearts, trying to see if there's any part of them left untouched. The pounding of our chests has stopped, and the wind has made its way between the trees. It throws us to the ground, and our icy bodies break. We become part of the fallen cold.