I was running For a long time Too long The cold followed quietly No rush No anger Only patience The longer I ran, the less I remembered why I was running and what I had left behind. As if the cold was no longer outside, but inside me. Tightening Slowly I stopped telling myself I would make it. Stopped counting steps. Stopped looking for a way out. I just kept running, without thinking. Running as if this was the meaning of my existence. And maybe it was. There was only this white silence, drawing closer, asking for nothing, taking everything. I didn’t disappear at once I thinned I faded Until movement and stillness became the same And winter claimed what was left of me. /acrylic, pencil on paper/