Now it is cold.
The sun comes out, sometimes, but I don’t feel it.
Now it is cold.
Tears, anger, fear, I am surrounded. It is constant.
Now it is cold.
I am thankful for the lack of a mirror, so that I cannot see myself diminishing before my own eyes.
I fake a smile for my children, keep the terror locked away inside me.
Now it is cold.
The wind tears through our pajamas that are as thin as paper.
Now it is cold.
I cannot help but think back to better days,
only for a split second;
days spent in the sun, with my children, watching them play as children should do.
Not march.
Which is what they do now, alongside me.
We are matching.
Marching alongside the soldiers, who are taking us to the chambers filled with gas.
And yet, all I can think is
Now it is cold.