Fingers growing number, a twinge of sadness chokes my soul
Like the cold air of January, I fall deep into its pull.
It takes me on a journey, once before I have gone,
Where warmth's akin to weakness, and deeper I am drawn.
The naive wind for this adventure, whispers through my hair,
But I hope to forget, freezing what's no longer there.
"What was once here?" The curious cold asked,
"The moment I share it with you, you will long for its grasp.
A comfort that is stolen, is one you'll never miss,
You'll soon forget the warmth, so the longing can't exist.
Rather just adaptation, adjusting to the pain,
And accepting that you will never, ever feel the same,"
It paused in my silence, but began to speak
Louder, its temperature brushing against my cheeks.
"I know your sadness is an attempt to move along,
In fear that a weakness means you can't remain strong.
But I assure you, my sorrow isn't easily forgotten,
Emotions are broken, twisted and knotted,
If I tried to lose one, and carry all the rest,
I'd be stuck and ever tangled with an ache inside my chest.
For pain isn't something one can simply leave,
Instead, we have to bask in it, and accept that we can grieve.
I understand the worry that a broken thought holds,
But to know a warmth, is to acknowledge the cold,"
Maybe it was right, I thought in the snow,
And went right back inside to grab a warm coat.