A familiar tap comes on my shoulder through a forgotten window pane. I freeze momentarily and question my glass of wine with my eyes. Turning to the heavy ethereal visitor, I see the shadows of crystals dancing past some distant gas light. I forget my work and abandon the cold glow of the monitor. I am away from this place suddenly. I am at the window staring out, but my eyes are in the past. I am not remembering, but revisiting this very same place, this very same time, but ago as it were. I watch the shadow-play between the falling fairies and gas lamp god. Gilded night and electric halos ressurect some long languishing affair of the soul I had mistaken for dead and buried. I bring my wine mindlessly to cold lips and fall entirely into the perfect past. I find myself standing in the place I was staring at. For a moment I can recall Poe completely. Her form is that of a dark angel as she approaches, backlit by the streetlamps and clouded by a veil of cold breath. Her face is broken by shadow but familar to mind and the touch of a cold hand. There is a smell of wool and perfume. I move toward the familiar phantom, the crushing din of snow beneath frozen soles is mine alone. She seems to float silently as with the wind, but ever toward me. I taste copper and focus suddenly on my glass. The wine I had to my mouth has gone from white to red. I bring my fingers to my lips and feel a subtle sting. I am awake again. I am alive. I am inside again. I find myself staring out at the place where I had been standing. The snow has ceased, and a downy blanket reflects the solid moon. A steely wind reminds me of my place before the window. I remember my work, and return to the shadows of my monitor. December has come again. This time I loathe and miss forever more. I will continue at the keyboard, and try to forget what I will forever remember, bleeding, and questioning my glass of wine. I will wait, as always, for that annual reminder. That tap on a cold shoulder. That vision at the window. That forgotten, broken pane of glass. December has come again. -Sixaxis