Snow

The smell of winter is calming and barren. Dull lights on each corner reckoning with the night. Thin moon slithers in the sky. And nothing moves out there except the exhausted sigh of the wind. As it carries on its endless journey to nowhere.

The silence is a shroud that this coffin must wear.

It's not something one can just walk away from. So many years between myself and living.

Winter. It's when rain takes form and learns to be caught. So why does it not change me? Also make me solid?

So that they could hold me if they should want.

It's when the trees bare their naked flesh and flaunt every vunerability. So why are all my leaves still intact?

Why does the winter change the world out there and not the one within?

Maybe it's not the winter's fault. Perhaps I melt before I ever get close enough to know the warmth of their grasp.