Cold as a lake in the middle of February,
I huddle into a corner,
As if afraid of falling apart.
Weakness is the overarching emotion,
As the fireplace me,
Burns only on embers,
Small remains of a fire that will not restart.
It’s okay to not be warm now,
Summer will come soon,
Think I as I shiver in the dark room.
But can weather really cut so deep,
To revive my chilling heart?

As I wait, I’m turning blue,
And white, as the clarity of something new.
Fire is light, but all know,
Snowflakes have their beauty too.

The ice that holds me chained,
It is just a dreary point of view.
Even if these seasons never change,
I’ll be cold, but never the same.

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