The Clouds Press Down On Me So

Every morning, I look out my window with trepidation.  For months after the last snow, I have continued looking for those cool white pellets to fall from the sky, to ruin me.  The darkness never fades here- it is still overcast and grey even now, in the early days of June.  I can feel it all weigh down on me so, suffocating my desires.  In my car, I am constantly shocked that I can roll down the windows and rest my arm on the roof of my car.  I keep expecting the gloaming to come- the days of eternal cold, frosty breezes, and raw skin.  The darkness suggests that cold, but it doesn't come, not now.  But I wait.  I am careful.  

I still wear pants outside, and it has only been above 70 a few days so far.  

Even if I must obey the cruel weather's demands, I don't have to accept it.  Or like it.  I know that I will escape here soon, and that the sun will return to me, enlivening my dreams, my heart, my smile.  And you, Rochester, will have lost.  And you, Eastman, will have lost me.  You will no longer be able to force me down, below the deepest tunnels of lost hope.  I am here, here in my 7th story apartment, and I will go no lower.  I will not descend to your methods of oppression, your cruel words, your icy hug.  So I wait.  Wait for my revenge.