My Winter

When the wind howls like a wolf in mourning, 
and each laboured, rabid breath bites your lungs. 
I am reminded of how I have such love for the winter seasons, 
and they no love for me. 

I recall standing in the orange glow of a street lamp, 
on the chilly streets of that marshy town. 
I remember embracing you, at the bus stop. 
We’d just exchanged Christmas gifts, 
and as the bus pulled up, 
we exchanged kisses. 
And then I left you, 
and shortly after, 
you left me. 

Oh how cold a heart could become in winter weather. 
I should have known. The frosty glistening 
covering all that I could see 
was the frozen tears of fortune. 
Weeping at my fate. 

Time passes. Hearts mend. 
Until again, in December winds 
a distant love, whom I had allowed to escape my tether
in selflessness, in charity, in love
desired further space.
Further space? You already lived 400 miles away, 
How much more space did you need? 
The winds raged with me. Blustery, blowing outside the window
next to which I sat. 
I remember saying “If you want a mug, I’ll buy you one for Christmas, 
but it won’t be me.” 
And that was that.  

Liquid nitrogen veined, icicle weeping. 
another cold heart, another frozen love. 
Snowflakes seem to hang in the air 
recanting tales of harsh softness. 
A blanket of pure, white snow. 
The only time of year a blanket can be freezing cold. 

Time passes. Hearts mend. 
Yet fallen leaves and barren trees again portend.
This time, not my heart broken 
but my poor, sorry brain. 
A brain-freeze perhaps? Neuralgia from coming in from the cold?
Alas, whatever the cause it caused me pain, 
and thus you too. 
I could have held on. I could have stayed forever but, 
you need a man not a pet. 
So as the bitter frost seized my mind, 
and sorry red snowflakes whispered down my arms, 
I apologised to you. And told you I had to go. 
My heart was cold. But it had to be. 
Were I to have allowed it any warmth I couldn’t have done it. 
And you would still be in that hell. 
The one into which I descended further. 
Until all oblivion I sought. 

Time passes. But this time my heart does not mend. 
Instead, I leave a little piece with you. 
And as the dark sets in early, 
and duvets seem welcome distraction 
from the icy, bitter world outside. 
I shall always remember what was. 
Rather than dwell on what could have been.