Before even raising my head from my pillow I feel the shuffle of the world around me, as I remain absorbed in taboo thoughts no one ever writes about, as the roar of silence cuts through the scent of my skin, and the air swells with insidious vibration. Faltering my fingers at the bathroom sink, splashes of coldness bringing blood vessels to surface, my face, a peculiar blend of old and new. In the mirror I lean forward, expectant to see shadow of myself in antiquated darkened age, rather than a life exposed on the surface of my own flesh. Droplets of water remain in beads on the sink walls, studying my hands as I deposit a layer of lilac silk cream to my fingertips, bridging a barrier between skin and the intrusion of cold winter air. Motionless for a moment, memories surface to the salty wind and hardened sea crabs and sea urchins, the warm smell of seaweed, as thoughts of summer inch their way through. Sun in a long curtain drawn down my back, sipping champagne in summer's heat, barefoot in iridescent peach sand. No, winter never has been, my best of season..