Heavy Night.

It's miserable outside. The cold creeps in, through whatever cracks it finds. The wind rakes against the window, as the pellets of frozen rain chatter on glass. Billowing, gusting, I hear it, oppressive sound, darkening my mood, echoing my mood.
The BF's in bed. Tucked in. Snug. He's not feeling well. Doped up in cough syrup, last few drops. Have to get more. Sick with a cold, sick with worry. His father's been in the hospital and he'd lied about the severity of his condition. Saw him Monday, he was so happy lying to us. Today, he had surgery. As far as I know, they removed a malignancy in his esophagus and a portion of the stomach, ulcerated. He's in recovery. I'm positive he'll be fine, it's not his time. Keeping the dark thoughts at bay. Fuckers. He's a good man, it's not his time.
I won't be miserable inside.