Why must it be cold when the most cruel feelings insist upon being relived? Does physical cold, in its unbearable loneliness, call the heart's frost to wake?
Walking along this empty road, and looking out into the frozen lake, I think bitterly about what might have been. Because no one had gotten on as well as we had. But it was not until we had come past the point of return, that I realized I was not the first.