As Time & the World Begin to Crumble

(Being an excerpt from "Two Stories")

… the wind changes directions without warning, blowing stronger and colder. Its chill flashes through you, leaving traces that can’t be relieved by adding a sweater or placing another log on an already blazing fire.

Worst of all is being unable to tell anyone, no one to compare notes and reactions with, because no one else will feel the change. And that is when you realize it is your Time and your World that are crumbling, no one else’s.

And for perhaps for the first time you ask, not as part of casual conversation, but to all that is, was, or ever will be, Is this what it comes to? Have I somehow missed the point?