I for one, am not mad at you.
Your chilly breeze engulfs my spine
and trickles down my back.
A quick change of direction and
you are frolicking through my hair.
My eyelashes rest on your spirit
as it dances around these cold streets.
I cannot take my eyes off of you.
Your teardrops freeze as they fall,
feather like,
swirling in the air with
no identifiable direction or pattern.
They only desire movement
until they've reached the ground.
You carry with you
dropping temperatures
and something about you
makes people want to sing.
I've been singing for weeks.
Or perhaps its that
i've been singing
because winter is a season of cleanse.
Leaves fall.
Their absence bears clear silhouettes
of tempted trees ready to start anew.
Their absence brings clarity to their purpose.
And the clarity serves as a reminder
of the possibilities to come with a blank canvas.
Conveniently, the new year comes amidst you.
making space for those new possibilities.
so thanks.
by this time next year
i hope that i will have built a belief in myself again.
hopefully by then, that belief will push my fear aside
and i'll begin to paint my own canvas.
Until then, you've come to soon.
Yours Truly,
An admirer
