Your hands were cold in mine.
And when spring blooms again, the trees begin anew.
The winter chill steals my breath.
I gave you my body to paint. you left my portrait in the cold.
Where humans interfered with Fate is where the moon become a black hole shadowed with evil and consequences.
waiting for warmer days.
December – once a month of snow and happiness, now a month of silence and nothingness.
I stand on the edge. you are not here.
the cold never looked so inviting. or dangerous.