Teenage angst.

I’ve been feeling worn with limbs that fall like the loose threads at the end of your sweater, the one you keep tugging closer to keep you warm. But you stop once you realize that the cold always finds a way inside. Maybe I am just bracing myself, I tell you. I am curling into myself until my ribs hold my head and my knees disappear into my chest because winter is coming. And we feel it even when we laugh and sigh against each other’s mouths, breath that tastes like cigarette smoke. We laugh because we know it’s coming and we know we can’t stop our hands from shaking.