My heart is like a photo album
Filled only with pictures
Of you.

A thousand times a day,
I lose myself
Between its pages.

But it doesn't keep me warm.
Not in the way that
You did.

So I freeze over for a while
And hibernate within my
Frosted flesh.

In aimless pursuit
Of nothing in particular,
January chills my bones.

Painted white by the winter,
I wait for spring
To thaw me out.