And thus, without as much as a murmur, endeth the Winter cold. It’s mood varied from malice to indifference, from tempest to meekness. But dreary, on length, it seemeth to drag, ‘til in the end it merely faded away.
The Winter is like to my life, in some ways. On it drags, and yet have I been unable to rise above it. It’s not that now I think I can, necessarily, but I certainly hope to bring about a Spring. A new beginning, a new life. An existence where I can be something. Someone. All that I was meant to be.
Game of Thrones as a 90s TV show