There is something about winter that seems unending:
The days spent lying under layers of quilts,
Burning my tongue on the tea I made hours ago,
Wasting hours on puzzles just to distract from the fact that i'm alone.
God, if only spring would come.
He would come back,
Because it's the snow that's been keeping him away
And the phone lines must be frozen,
I just know he would call if he could.
The more blame I put on winter,
The farther spring seems.