Loves of my December,
frozen from the beginning
of my endings,
and the fall of my anguish.



In the winter of my solitude,

I trace the wrinkles
of fainting memories.
Breathing out a sigh of surrender
for the unspoken, the paths
unwalked, the doors unopened,
and the ghosts of love that remain
draped in the painful cloak of longing.

Yet, amidst the cold, I find grief
blooming like a flower in the snow.

For in the mirror of my December
I have found not just
the echo of what was lost,
But the prayers of April—
the goddess of renewal,
the angels of spring,
and the dawn of new beginnings.

How can I not rejoice?
For in this darkness,
there is light…