"It will soon be winter" is a sentence that, in all honesty, scares me. Winter is such a deceitful season and such a gentle murderer. It takes the homeless forever off the streets. And when the temperature drops below -30 C, they say that if you can't find a shelter, the Winter Belle comes to you with the silent tickling of the clock, there on the pavement where you have made your bed, and rewards you your most beautiful dream. With the silver knits of lovers' care, the uninvited dream slides you away from this world.

I am homeless and it's the brink of winter. The blue line on the meter has never before given me the chills like this year. So how I try and handle it is I freeze time in my own way, I disappear so Belle won't have to come and look for me in the cold sharpness of the night. And then, everything has to wait for me to come out. Everything has to wait for my home, my shelf with books, my dinner in the oven, my bottle of wine, and my lover...
How elevated and forever tender now seems Werther's way out, when he was lucky to be able to choose his own executioner in that sad misty morning.