A strange winter
"The way hope chooses the smallest corner attempting to hide, just to grow there anyway."
Who has dared to let me fall in love once more?
And why am I powerless against it’s tide?
My heart, once a vault, it’s key sealed within,
refuses to let me turn it off,
leaving me captive.
There are evenings when the world
feels scraped raw,
the sky a dim bruise above the streetlights,
and something in me aches
with the softest kind of violence,
the kind that comes from missing you
so deeply it changes the molecules in my lungs.
A strange brightness rises
through the ruins I carry,
like a match struck in an abandoned room,
the smell of smoke never leaving,
settling into the curtains.
You’re the snowflakes falling during the aftermath,
the warmth blooming in a place
I once thought was reduced to ash and echo.
A contradiction only to love.
I didn’t know a heart could feel
like a half-healed scar humming under moonlight,
or that yearning could be gentle.
A slow electricity that doesn’t demand,
only reaches.
Only hopes.
Loving you feels like a soft blanket
against every night that ever tried to swallow me.
There’s a sweetness to it,
an ache with wings,
as though the universe keeps whispering
your name
into the static in my bones
just to remind me I’m still alive,
and capable of loving.
When I think of us,
I see a strange kind of winter
freezing over cracked pavement,
something bright growing in the broken places
simply because it chooses to.
And I want that.
To choose you the way light chooses
to reflect on snow,
the way warmth chooses skin,
the way hope chooses the smallest corner
attempting to hide,
just to grow there anyway.
I would tell you,
the blizzard coming to a stop for a second.
You are the softest miracle
in this universe of us.
And loving you
feels like surviving,
shining, being myself,
appreciating the warmth
and coming home
all at once.