the cold breeze crawls against his skin
powerful enough to give him goosebumps
but not the kind he's been searching

he treks against the snow, hurriedly
as if time is passing by too fast
and he's afraid he might fall behind

his constant worries trail him
like an unwanted game of hide and go seek
except he is always being found

he longs for the sun, an image
destroyed by the constant winters
that ceaselessly plague his mind

but he doesn't need to hunt for
what he already has in
the palm of his hand

all he must do is wait
for the snow to melt
and spring to come again

where i will welcome him
with open arms, like the ones
he so desperately yearned for