“Cold snowflakes upon my arm

the winter shine peeking through a crack in the blinds

a breeze of ice engulfing the room through a window left ajar

a land covered in a shiny white blanket.”

Winter has come. Cue the thick padded coats and the parkas of every color of the rainbow! Behold the sleds and skis and the beautiful Siberian huskies who pull them. Await the closing of schools and the temperature drops, keeping people in and making children everywhere euphoric as ever. The time has come for skating upon rivers of ice, and joyous dinners in warm wooly sweaters as families gather around to indulge in the tastiest of food. Fireplaces shall again be lit in all households of old, and stockings hung up early in preparation for Christmas. Happy smiles all around, engaging in snowball fights and the building of snowmen.

Ah but winter is as winter does. As numbers reach the negatives, heaters are turned up to the warmest possible, insulating the beings in a home and using electricity. What about those without a home? Those who are confined to the streets of the city, waiting for the cold to eat their bodies up and leave them in a state of rigidity? They are left to waste. Left to succumb to the bitterness of winter, with no sustenance whatsoever or any form of water to soothe their burning throats. The cold will conceal them in a cover of white death, a prison of snow. And in the early mornings of every winter-filled day, a machine is sent out to collect the bodies of those who have been imprisoned by the winter. The one operating the machine weeps silent tears for these ice prisoners before bringing their poor souls elsewhere.

Winter is two-faced, and she is both beautiful and terrible as the morning and the night.

(lunarlullubies)

Amid the millions of snow drops falling from the sky, she awaits reaching home to be with her family on Christmas Day. Her thick coat of fur kept her warm, and her excited beating heart comfy. She turns the key and swings the door open, letting a draft in. "I'm home!" She shouts and happy screams erupt, along with the pitter patter of feet as people run towards the door. She is greeted by her family, with many hugs and kisses. She hangs the coat up and joins them at the dinner table.

A candle-lit feast with delicious roasted turkey and meat of all kinds. She notes that there are at least three different kinds of cheese and an assortment of vegetables and also colorful desserts. The atmosphere was lovely, and laughter filled the air. She ate slowly, relishing every flavor of goodness she tasted. The plates that adorned the table were soon empty in a matter of hours and bellies were filled.

She sat in front of the tree, with beautiful lights in neon colors, and snow angels on every other branch. This was true happiness to her. Shiny baubles and adorable Santas also put a smile on her face. But, the star. Oh that star. It reigned supreme at the crown of the tree, brighter than any other star she'd seen in the night sky. It fueled the Christmas spirit in the house, banishing all negativity. She looked at the foot of the tree, and there they were, carefully wrapped in the prettiest wrapping paper one could ever find. There were designs of the world map, and some others of animals and mythical creatures. They made presents extra special. The family soon joined her, delicately removing the wrappers of their presents. Each sent shivers down spines and initiated a mass hugging session and gratitude. She watched as everyone thanked each other for their lovely gifts, before heading back to the hall to continue with celebrations. She realized that she hasn't yet opened hers and picked up the remaining presents with her name in cursive. Slowly opening each of them, she folded the wrapping papers neatly in a pile beside her. Every one of the presents was specially chosen for her: a book on the universe, a unicorn statue, a top adorned with tiny suns and the most precious of all, a book of photos of the ocean. She loved them, and went to embrace her family members again and thanked them dearly for the presents.

She loved Christmas, but it was ending soon. She said a silent prayer, thanked the stars in her heart and started taking the decorations down one by one.

(lunarlullubies)

I miss you.

Though I've never felt your touch,
or heard your laugh,
or seen you cry,
or had a deep talk late into the night.

My chest literally aches physically
as I'm longing to be the one
you call when you need someone
and the one you know as your own.

How can a heart miss someone
it's never even known?
you have reshaped my ideas
and become my definition of love.

I miss you so
though you would never know
how my soul yearns for you
because you are not my reality.

I miss you so much.

Running away from my problems again, as usual.
I find comfort in the warmth of my soul,
the big, rugged arms of my emotions, rocking me ever so sweetly to sleep.
My heart is such a damaged and dangerous vessel,
it couldn't even hold water. I'm amazed I haven't bled out already.
Why do I go? Because if not there, then where?
I'm too smart to let myself find
solace in stupidity,
so not my brain, no, not in my thoughts.
It'd be too unpredictable to stay alive.

I sure as hell can't run to him.
Because HE doesn't love me.
Because HE doesn't care.
Because HE doesn't look at me with that wondrous look of interest and adventure.
Because to him...I'm just a toy.
I've been played with too many times and it's to the point where I'm just hurt and I'm sore, and I don't want to play anymore.
So I hide in my heart, the one place I know where it's safe.
The one place that still, foolishly, wants any part of him.
Why can't he find me in the place I run to every time?
Because he never for a ******* i n g second wanted any part of my heart...

...and his name was Brandon.

Time remembers what we have forgotten; those moments feigned a dream, our reality misbegotten.  We said “I love you” when we should have said” I’m lonely without you.”  My god, what were we thinking, impulses of our youth to pledge our demise wearing trinkets. The dos and do nots hanging beneath the expectations; emotions lodged within our throats, choking the communication.  The catastrophes unforeseen, at times expected; the burden to heavy, the pain and fire misdirected. We carry a desire to change; we find it difficult to give up our troubled ways.

The pencil scraping along the paper, forming a masterpiece taken straight from the mind and the nerves along my spine was a lullaby.
And so I drew a gorgeous, full moon and shaded its craters,
I drew furious ocean waves because my Science teacher told me there was a relationship between the moon and the ocean.
It was so intriguing to know the closer the moon, the more revolting and furious the waves.
But my Art teacher also told me that art is a form expression.
I was expressing my feelings, explaining our situation, and my brain and hand agreed to compare us to the moon and the ocean because that's what we were.
You were always so beautiful yet distant; watched and loved by everyone, but explored by few.
I was always so revolting and mysterious, no one willing or able to reach the depths and hollows of me; better maps of the surface of Mars than my vast ocean floor.
We were so distant and different yet I needed you to be.
You were always waking up every emotion I thought I had been drained of; turned my lowest tides to crashing, fierce waves; always dependent of your full or new state.
You are my moon and I am your ocean; so different yet it feels so right.
The ocean wasn't so realistic until I felt salty tears of it run down my cheeks,
there was no more silence.
I was at low tide, and I needed my moon.