But there she was, sitting outside in a pair of black sweatpants and a fuzzy grey hoodie. Her eyes wandered across the garden watching the flowers begin to fade away from their healthy appearance, the pedals bending over. They were closer to death. As each day approached closer to winter, the icy temperature would take away the beauty, the colour and the warmth of the flowers- allowing the snow to take their place. The flowers sacrificed their beauty for the snow. They were left to die, as new ones would replace them. That's what she felt. If she died, it wouldn't matter. Someone would always replace her. There was no beauty left in her as a new storm awaited. She felt drained. The loss of warmth in her chest and body was emptying out as she was left alone. The emptiness continued day after day. When would it all finally end?