cigarette smoke.

silver light

HE WHISPERS HIS SORROW TO HIS ONLY FRIEND.

It's so cold in the winter, snow wavers down, blanketing the world in a chill of soundless noise; wind whispers static and bitter cacophonous drills into their ears, it is a harsh night.

Moonlight is scarce enough, it is colder than daytime now that the sun has disappeared; it leaves them to freeze in their rags and cardboard houses; in their icy skin and sunken eyes.

Distinctly, a boy no older than five remembers the embers of fire of a time when shorts were uncomfortably warm; he thinks warm is better than cold, when it's warm his limbs don't go stiff and his breathe doesn't look like fog; when it's warm he can wear whatever he wants- he can be who he wants.

It's so cold, he shivers, clinging to himself; no-one is holding him, they are all gone with the wind, the winter has taken them with the warmth of summer.

He looks at the silver shine from the distance, a smile that only a child too old for his body can have; he can only say one thing to one being before his lips stay forever blue and his caramel skin is stripped of its glow and he becomes as white as the moon.

"GOODBYE STARSHINE, I HOPE TO SEE YOU SOON."