Winter’s always been a friend of mine,
even when it translated to nothing
more than falling rain.
There’s this certain kind of kindness
that you can only find in the cold
once with your demons,
your hopes lie slain.
I believe it used to be sunny here, once
I know because I remember the
agitation in your complaint.
I would have found you respite, you know
even if it required fighting
everyone who ever
caused you pain.
I wish you believed me.
Other times, I must admit
that I am relieved that you don’t.
The only thing that bothers me
is whether you can’t
or you won’t.