Something about this winter seems colder than ever.
Late.
Sudden.
All at once.
It's the type of cold I haven't felt in a long time. Lingering.
Something you can't get rid of.
A breath of fog in the air.
Old memories.
Air that replenishes you. Making things new.
Air you don't mind suffering for.
Chilled to the bone.
Fingers numb. Toes nonexistent.
But sometimes still, I stand on my porch, cold, dreaming of blankets, and cocoa, and you.
Snow falls on my skin. Chilling. A reminder of how cold it really is, and I have to pretend that you didn't cross my mind.

I still write you love letters.
Love letters to your ghost.
Somebody that I might have known once
but view only as a stranger in a crowd of familiar faces.
I still write these love letters for nobody.
All about you.
The nothingness.
The emptiness.
An untitled painting.
An overused quote.
Unattributed.
Maybe I still write about the girl that I fell in love with in the sixth grade.
Or maybe I still write about the girl I cried about in high school.
Or maybe I'm writing about a girl that shares miles between me in the same bed.
Some small thing with fiery hair. No. Maybe brunette.
Tall. Definitely. Thighs and an ***.
Tired eyes. Green.
No. Brown.
I'm still writing about you.
A love letter for somebody that cares.
Somebody that realizes my words are all I have.
That doesn't brush them away.
Annoying. A crowd of gnats.
My words are for you.
For whomever will take them.

I'm drunk and all I can think about is you.
God, you're perfect.
I love your hair and your eyes and your skin.
I love the way you make me feel.
I want to hold you so close and never let you go.
You're so ****.
So wonderful.
I love your soul and your heart.
I think about you all the ******* time.
I want you naked.
I want you in my bed and I want to ******* hard.
I want you to tell me you love me.
I want you to treat me better than I'm being treated.
I want to feel something other than monotony for once.
I want you to hold my hand while we look at the stars.
Just tell me you love me. Tell me you want me. Lie to me.
For ****'s sake please lie to me.
You make me whole.
You make me happy.
I want you more than anything. You're my missing piece. My other half.
I need you and you don't know I exist.
I want to breathe you in. I want you held in my lungs. I want you to grow stale there. I want you to choke me.
I want to run away. Let's go on the road together. You and me. A little car. Sleeping with the moon. Skin against skin.
Show me yours and I'll show you mine.
Kiss me like it's wrong. Like you're 16 again and your parents could walk in at any minute. ****! I want you.  *******,  I want you.
You're my life and you don't even know I exist.

You're graceful
And I know that you say that your shower
curtain is your biggest fan,
but I think I'm slowly becoming
your biggest fan instead.
I bet your voice reflects your soul-
dark
mysterious
tinted glass.
I wrap myself up at night
with thoughts of you.
And maybe I shouldn't be saying this,
but some things are too hopeless
to not be expressed.
You are beautiful in your everyday way of being.
Your language and expression
are artistic,
poetic-
breathtaking;
and I often catch myself thinking of you.
Even when I'm fairly certain,
you're not thinking of me.
I bet the dark countryside is jealous
of your enrapturing beauty,
and I'm sure that when I'm looking at the moon,
I can feel the presence of your soul.
I wait until the sun rises, and I bask in its warmth,
to remind me of the way
you make me feel.