The end of Winter is synonymous with grief. The snow melts and the cracks in the earth and the asphalt shine through its thin layer. I feel constant sadness, the brokenness of the world around me. Not around, I correct myself, as now more than ever I feel adrift in the general brokenness. The cracks shining through the thin layer of snow, of civilization, are identical to the ones in my heart. The end of Winter feels like a church with perfect acoustics: every personal pain and longing is mirrored and amplified through the millions pain points scattered across the universe. I am just one of these pain points, but without me the chain of transmission may be broken. With me, the chain becomes a complete circle. In the end of Winter, I refuse to look forward towards brighter and warmer days. I refuse to hurry towards the beginning, but choose to stay here, in the stage of dying, melting away, crumbling, and ending. There is a strange comfort of feeling broken in a broken world.