Solitary autumn afternoons always remind me of endings. Yellow leaves crunching beneath the shoes. Tinge of gold slipping off the snow peaks. Everything is bathing in the dying ray of sun. Wind is too mercilessly cold. My numb fingers adjust the cozy layer of woolens. The tip of my nose is crying for help. Lower lip has been bleeding since I smiled at the random stray dog. I stride across the crowded street. People are enjoying the last part of the day before heading home. Kids are returning from school. Their scarves are painted in cheery shades of yellow. They remind me of Gryffindor students. Happy looking couples passing by hand in hand. Do I feel a sudden pang somewhere inside me? Ah, must be the cold. Solitary old man is dozing off in the shadowy corner of neglect and decay. I look up. Sky is looking so bloodshot all of a sudden. I shiver in spite of myself. I think of blood dripping off me, slowly coagulating into red patches. My favourite kind of red. The red that is smeared across the sky right now. Wounds that never forget. Void that never fills. The dead scars tucked away beneath multiple layers begin to tingle. I feel like a despicable reptile ready to slither into hibernation for the rest of the eternity. Wake me up when winter is over.