I once told a woman

just after meeting her

that dark days made me sad,

how I found winter hard.

Confidently she said

that I had S.A.D,
a seasonal disorder.
I said I didn’t think so.

She told me she was sure;

another stone eyed blind date
I had just picked up
in a pre-Uber cab.

Quickly her tone made me

cold and  lonely in a way

an affective illness

could never compete with.