Last Winter. Coldest when its bitter letters stuttered on the lips of the sender. Someone told us that love was the only thing that’d ever be enough. The first and the last thing to feel. I remember it’s moans that never came from wind the snow that never arrived the frost that hurt my fingertips, resting feet in someone else’s shoes. The winter that we only just made it through by the skin of our teeth, slid in through the doors- I’m recalling this all wrong. Last winter was a storm that didn’t end and unravelled around us, a perverse blanket that was never asked for. We never asked last winter to come.