I have come to realize
on this very first of a stormy winter night,
shivering alone at my stacked desk,
that our relationship is a childish defense mechanism.

We fool around, curse each other out.
We share secrets like no two best friends ever do.
We sing our soulless hearts out to rock bands
with suicidal guitarists, comfortably evading our feelings.

"What a childish defense mechanism!" I hear myself say.
I never once wrote poetry for you
for fear it might elope into something out of control.
I was not ready for that. I am not still.
And I'm yet unsure I ever will be.

But ******, I just had to get it down on paper for once.
And I detest being stuck in this hazy, grayish aura
of it never being truly white, but not really black either.

And my thoughts are mimicking the weather tonight,
cloudy and thunderous, yet utterly breathtaking.
I think I might love you one day just as much as I love winter.