Winter ends all things. All that was alive needs to die. Cold air will fill the lungs and hearts of the ones who still breathe and are left behind. The heartbeats pump the cold blood against the time. A time which always runs faster than the heart is ever able to pump. The winter will win. It always does.
What felt warm and close will become cold and air. All things need to die. And so do we.
Winter fills the body with sadness about the lost, with hopelessness about what might become, with anxiety towards the unknown. Winter takes everything and promises nothing. Winter kills without remorse. The things that die have no idea that they die for a reason, that they die to leave the summer for others.