the early winter rain had come and gone,
clouds suggested a part,
as little rays of gold spilled through.
voices spilled from in front of us,
petty words and silly plots.
and there we sat,
curled against each other,
under feathers and fleece,
skin on my shoulder,
fingers on your hips.
i felt the hissing next to my ear,
i just wish i could remember the words.
but instead, i'm plagued by the vision:
my tediously shaking hands,
hesitantly moving against your skin,
awkward, uncomfortable, out of place.
i remember feeling afraid,
as if i would shatter every piece of you.
i've realized that
i was terrified of breaking
the one beautiful thing in my life.
winter had set in,
permanent blots of grey for miles,
and god, the wind kept me up till orange filled the sky.
but the cold brought friends,
and demons made a home in the back of my mind-
they all whispered about you.
and so a new vision set in:
throats closed around unspeakable words,
as it rained harder inside that car than any sky ever could
and just like winter knocks the leaves from fall's hands,
my shaky hands dropped you to the floor-
beauty seems so hard to come by since then.
maybe it's because i lost you,
maybe it's the demons whispering into my ears-
i couldn't exactly tell you why, but
i always cry in january.
this feels rough and will likely be edited to high hell