A Woman in Winter

Hey may as well post what i've been up to in both my graphic design and creative writing courses...We were tasked with writing a 250 word poem/prose piece titled: A Woman in Winter.

I have no idea how I got here. Waiting in the middle of a car filled with random paraphernalia. Books on self-help and Spinoza litter the back seat, dog-eared and curling, piled on top of a red and gray checkered blanket covered with dog fur. Empty Dunkin' Donuts Styrofoam cups lie on the wet plastic floor, pink lettering revolting against the dim and monotone cold. My breath reveals traces of memories in the frosty windows; crooked hearts and faded names. The battered cassette player still manages to sputter out almost recognizable (if I was only so lucky) Christmas songs. The static-filled voice of Nat King Cole envelops the car with a type of melancholy that can only exist during this season. I quickly change the station. The car smells like stale cigarettes and old stories. I don’t know what it is about the holidays that brings you back to a place in time that no longer exists. People become secret conspirators in their own deception, seated around tables heaving with dishes no one will finish. I’m no different, sitting in this make-believe version of a romance that has longed stammered and failed, like this car’s heater I am left with a bitter chill I just can’t shake. My triple knitted wool sweater provides no insulation from winds that rattle glass, making strange tunes out of inanimate objects. The cold has a way of seeping inside you and settling in the very marrow of your bones.