Late autumn and winter with depression is rolling a die.

Some days getting out of bed is a struggle,

Putting food in your body a monumental task.

Outside is freezing, the inside of my apartment colder somehow.

Warm beverages a minor band-aid to the internal chill that permeates.

But when the sunlight that graces me with it's presence,

Spilling through the trees, barely contained,

Leaves awash with a golden glow in the fog,

Feels like a whispered apology.

"I'm sorry you were made this way."