Thursday, January 16, 2014


You are the cold, my love.
You are the lingering feeling in the morning when I get out of bed.
You are the breeze that blisters my skin.
You are the freezing feeling in my palms. The overstaying frost that numbs my fingers.
I’ll always remember you when it is cold.
Not because we are frigid memories.
You are not the bad side of the cold night.
But you are the memory hiding beneath every icy chill in the mountains.
I remember you in the cold because we were never afraid of it.
We warmed each other during the moments when everything has frozen but us.
Our memory lingers in the cold even when we stutter to say the words that we long to hear.
We are the other side of the cold – forgiving and understanding.
You are the cold, my love.
I remember you in the cool moments of the day. I can’t escape you.
It’s not the bad things of the cold that remind me of you.
What I’ll always want is to be the blanket you wrap yourself with at night.
Pallid as our memories may, we will never be truly gone.
For the cold is always present. My palm will bear your memory.
If the rain reminds you of me then I hope it rains every time I’m with you.
It’s in those fleeting drops that I’d want to reside today and tomorrow.

You are the cold, my love. 

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