Struggling as I drag myself through the hot snow,
Enigma follows me, cloaked, hidden, and low.
Lifting my gaze with fake pride and confidence,
Enfolding my fear in a shroud of pretense.
Noticing soft hands, gentle and warm,
A stranger’s touch breaking my form.

She cups my cheeks—I cannot feel,
Yet somehow I sense that this touch is real.
Her hands are burining while touching my tissue,
But I notice, there is an issue.
Suddenly I hear the wind flow of words,
But one stands out, whispering, I LOVE YOU.