One season's end results in the loss of a certain feeling.
Your skin, like the snow, I might not see again.
Your lips were a bright shade of red, they contrasted with my dark blood on the day you decided he had stolen all that you had to give me.
I wanted to know if his blood was redder than mine. Did he contain colours that I didn't?
Your eyes, like the ocean in the early hours of the day, I hope to get lost in again.
But they might never find mine. Your blues and his reds will always attract.
I hope by winter I will have forgotten your love and the colours it all contained.