Turn down the temperature because I'm feeling a bit feverish without your cold stare stalking down my skin. I got used to the depressing weather, the knitted sweaters, the legs warmers that kept myself together. Glowers felt like blizzards and I felt mad all the same. You crept through my dreams with your delicate face, your wind chapped lips smirked at my every mistake. God once sent me a vision of us heads back, hands clasped, looking as if we'd shared the most fondest memory, but a hand washed over the vision and said I needed to be taught a lesson. With every passing moment, you became increasingly more distant. Soon enough spring came and I saw the difference in the way you looked at me. I turned green at the thought and thought that maybe I had just been hallucinating, but the drugs had come cheap and you no longer loved me. This time God didn't send me a vision or tell me a story and I began to wonder if this whole lesson had just been a  misunderstanding.