His skin
is dry and faded
like the bark of naked trees gathered.

His eyes
are dark, stormy, grey,
like the sky of a snowy day.

His muscles
are lean and strong
like the harsh winds that blow cold and long.

His lips
chapped and pale
like foot steps in the snow that go out to get the mail.

His personality
is bitter and unmerciful
like the emptiness of the lull.

He is Winter.
Long and lingering.
His favorite.

His skin
is light and glows,
beautiful like snow.

His eyes
The color of a sunny afternoon sky
with pure clouds strayed off in another land.

His freckles
scatter across his cheeks
like migrating geese.

His lips
speak of beautiful breezes
and naked trees.

His hair
is warm and smooth
and curls in the wind of his mood.

He is Autumn,
late in the season,
my favorite.

In the darkness
I find my way to a chair,
worn cushion,
and splintering.
The uncovered nails dig into the back of my calf.

Theres a click and a bright light that shines on a desk.
I squint.

There is a man sitting in front of me.
Bloated,
wrinkled,
and silver haired.
His swollen sausage fingers with yellowed chipped nails
are neatly knitted together on the table beside his coffee.
His teeth are yellow too.
Jagged and crooked beneath his cracking lips
and sunken deep into his skull,
just as his eyes are
like a bear in a cave,
deep brown,
warm,
but fierce and strong
staring at me.

I shift uncomfortably in the chair
as he sips his coffee from a styrofoam cup.
I notice it may too bitter for his taste.
He scrunches his nose,
which wrinkles his forehead,
his eyebrows tangle in the middle.

Time passes by. I adjust to the lighting and find a somewhat comfy spot in the chair.
Then I become uncomfortable in ways that can't be settled.

His mouth opened,
white tongue rolls out
a stale breath flows out
with his thick heavy gargled words.
I nearly choked
for the small enclosed room had little ventilation.

He questioned me
of who I was,
what I've done,
what will I do.
His words surrounded me,
stared down on my small little body.
I tried to hide behind my long black hair
but I know my green eyes glowed through the gaps.
I could not hide
who I was,
what I've been through,
my unpredictableness.
It reeked through my pores
and danced with mischief in my eyes.
My tears streamed
and his words did not pause.
He wouldn't stop until I responded.
And eventually I muttered out,
*"I will never stop."

Blue.
Blue eyes,
not like the ocean tides
or a pretty sky
but blue,
bright,
clear,
with strands of white
and miscilaneous colors
weaved into the fibers.
Blue,
like my sweater.

Blonde.
Blonde hair,
***** and smooth.
Not like the sandy beach
or the dry grass in the field.
But blonde,
thick,
wavy,
and you scratch your head a lot.
Itchy,
like my sweater.

Pink.
Pink Lips.
Not like any flower
or beautiful sunset.
But pink,
thin,
chapped,
with blinding white stars
hidden behind them.
Covering,
like my sweater.

Freckles
across your face.
Not like splatter paint
or migrating birds.
But freckled,
brown,
random,
little dots dancing
on your cheeks.
Cute,
like my sweater.

Skin.
Pale skin.
Not like fresh snow
or the paper these words are on.
But pale,
soft,
tight
and warm as you hold my hand.
Comforting,
like my sweater.

And with every
stitch and knot of this sweater,
I embrace your love
and how every morning you'll
walk that extra distance
just to give me a hug.
And I always wear our sweater.

I remember
when we were seven
we would sit on your porch swing
for what felt like minutes
but was probably more like hours.
We would talk about silly things
like your mom's hot dogs
and the push lawn mower
or how "cool" you thought you were.

And I thought you were cool.

I remember
when we'd spend the whole day
in your room.
Or until our moms made us come out.
You would show me your rock collection,
purple and silver.
We'd play darts,
or Monopoly
and talk about your crushes,
me hoping that my name
might come up.

I've always had a crush on you.

I remember
when we were twelve
we sat up on that hill
that looked across the whole
beautiful city
and we barely even spoke
a single word.
We just sat there
in the tall pokey grass
eating our dry sandwichs.
I would glance over at you.
I don't know if you were too.

Your mom took pictures of us there together that day, I wish I could see them.

I remember
when my mom said,
"Emme, you ride up with anomonys"
My heart skips a beat
when I hear your name.
I was so happy
to sit with you,
yet so nervous
hoping I wouldn't say anything weird.
The chair lift ride was quiet,
we were quiet.

I kept scooting closer to you, were you too?

I remember
when I looked into your eyes
when we looked
into each other.
The world stopped.
Something changed within me.
I felt something
I had never felt before.
I felt lost, stray.
I felt found,
like I finally belonged.

I turned away though because I got dirt in my eye.

I remember
for six or seven years
we were pretty good friends
or I felt like we were.
The past one or two years
our friendship has been
the best
and the worst.

I want our good friendship back.

I remember
how we were sweet
and "twitterpated".
I remember
how we were bitter
and in misery.
I want to stop this madness.
But to do that
I would have to let you go
and I can't do that.
Because what I saw
in your eyes,
was love.
What I saw
was my life
with you.

I miss you, more than you could ever imagine. I wish we could be together, but right now we are only memories.

I missed your eyes.
They've seemed so dark,
no light ever reflected in them.
But now I see
little stars
in the pools of silver.

I missed how the light
splashed onto
the planes of your face.
Though you've been hiding
behind your shadows.
But now I see
your smooth tan skin
showing again.

I missed your voice.
It's been so monotone,
coming out of lips
curled into a fake smile.
But now I see
your mouth stretched
so wide across your face.

And your words say,
"Do you ever feel like your not so alone when you're touching someone, even in the smallest way?"
A smile stretches across my face.
"Yeah. It makes me feel like someone can protect me for just a few moments."
You pull me closer to your chest,
arms wrapped around me and you whisper,
"I want you to know, I will always be there for you. I will protect you. I will love you, always."

Now that I have you again,
the aches in my heart
don't exist anymore.
The need to dig my feelings for you
deep deep down
is no longer needed.
Now that you are back in my life
I don't feel so alone anymore.

I was a fire,
burning,
crackling,
bursting.
Many have tried
to effuse
my vitriolic flames.
But I was too strong,
too powerful
for their deterrents.
I could've take on anything
everything.
I'd burn,
scar people,
just so that they'd remember
who I am.
Strong,
independent,
ultimate,
indestructable.
But then,
in a moment of weakness,
I was extinguished
into nothing
but a pile of ashes.
A stolen soul.
A broken heart.
And all it took
was a missive.

It was then
that I realized,
I'm not the fire.
The true bearer of this flame.
The fire was from
the one person
that I respected
that I trusted
that I loved.
They fueled me.
And they
were the one
that killed me,
that left me dry
with just the words
"Good-bye."