In my childhood, there was one man, living in the street, sleeping near the main entrance of the building I lived in. I don't remember exactly what had happened to him and why neighbors were checking he was still breathing or not. If his shoulders or stomach were slightly moving, than he was breathing. I was always waiting for someone, who was already big enough, who would take him somewhere nice. One day he disappeared. There were people, telling in the store how someone found him frozen.
I remember, how I was standing in the yard and couldn't stop loving snow which killed someone. I was trying so hard, but it was so white and beautiful I couldn't.
We kind of get used, that there always are some people, who's winters are only waiting for the sun ray and nothing more.