The big snow flakes drift effortlessly to the ground. Inside, the fire eats the wood you offer, but you stand staring out. Just on the other side of the glass is a massive beast of strength, teeth, and scars. Face full of blood, he consumes his kill. He glared straight at you before starting to feast, but pays you no thought now. Your eyes move to the door, and back to the beast. The blade you hold in your hand is more than able, the outcome though is far from certain. At the door, your left hand trembles as you reach for the latch while your right hand tightens to the steel. You open it and step out. Comfort does not move us. It tempts us to wait, to accept, to settle. It is a window we can look through without tasting our blood or claiming our victory. It enslaves if we choose. I am very proud of you!

[IMAGE] My Dad wrote this for me four years ago after I quit a toxic job. I thought some of you may appreciate the sentiment.