I've never liked the cold.

A lethargic wind brushed against my fingers as I placed my hands on the railings. My room was on the second floor, with a balcony overlooking a quaint little alleyway, though to call it that is a bit of a misnomer. The alleyway, I meant, not the balcony.

The balcony was rather nice, with smooth, hard tiling and the aforementioned set of railings. The alleyway was more of a trench, dug into the empty space behind a row of perfectly square buildings where a sliver of otherwise prime real estate fell just short of passing the geometry vibe check.

I carefully placed my weight on the metal railings, feeling them drain the heat from my hands as the floor tiles - ceramic, I think - did the same to my bare soles. I drew a deep breath, letting the chill winter air swirl around in my lungs before expelling it through my mouth.

To be clear, when I said winter, I didn't mean December. I always found it strange that December was considered to be the last month of the year. Just, putting Jesus aside for a second (gasp!), the winter doesn't end the moment December does, now does it?

In my experience, the first nip of cold winter air only makes an appearance around late November-ish, and even then it's not like the maws of winter gaping open and devouring you whole, just a delicate little nibble to show you what's in store. Just to stick with the weird biting metaphor, I'd say we're a little bit past nibbling tonight, and definitely got our teeth firmly stuck in. Point is, it's cold, mkay? And I'm not a big fan of the cold.

Anyways, where was I? Oh, right, on my balcony, in the middle of the night, talking to myself about anything other than my home life. Well, there's not much to talk about there, so I'd rather keep waffling on about the racist and Euro-centric nature of the Gregorian calendar, much more interesting than ruminating on the increasingly non-existent relationship between me and my mother.

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I mean, we live in the same house, and run into each other often, but we don't usually talk about anything of substance, you know? I've learned a long time ago to steer clear of any topic where there's even the slightest possibility of disagreements a long time ago. Nowadays we just meet up for meals, and she would ask me generic questions about my well being, and my job, and I'd just say something vaguely in the affirmative, and then we'd be on our merry way after dinner is over.

It's a little dull, sure, but it beats letting her know that I've been struggling at work, then spending the next hour and a half arguing about whether young people have it too easy nowadays, and whether I just need to change my outlook on life and take a glass half full attitude towards problems on the job. Which, incidentally, is exactly the kind of conversation we had a few days prior, because in spite of my otherwise flawless character, I have a bad habit of repeating the same mistake of opening up to my mother about things that bother me, over and over again.

I sat down on the - ceramic? - tiles and began wiping away the torrent of tears spilling down my cheeks. Mom used to say that I cry too much, and she's kind of right if I'm being honest. I still do, but I try to do so where she can't comment on it as often. That's why I'm on the balcony. Some might call this a mental breakdown, but in reality, I have it all down to an exact science.

Crying is a natural human process, after all. It serves to provide emotional cartharsis, and is a healthy way to relieve stress. The time of day (middle of the night) and the location (second floor balcony overlooking a decrepit alleyway) gives an unrivaled degree of privacy, enhanced by the fact that few people would want to brave the outdoor temperatures at this time of the year.

All of this is to say, what I have here is a refined and well tested procedure. In fact, I can already feel the tears stopping. The sobbing and shaking cut out a little while back. I should start to feel sleepy soon - from the crying of course, which always leads to a good night's sleep afterwards.

The hard floor doesn't bother me, I've always preferred firm mattresses, up to and including the solid - ceramic - tiling I now find myself on.

Looking up at the starless sky above, I took in a few languorous breaths, feeling a calm wash over my whole body.

The only thing taking away from the whole experience is the blanket of cold seeping through my thin pyjamas, but hey, life isn't perfect.

It could have been, had I waited until like, July to do this.

I've never liked the cold.