She's a mess.
The smallest fall of snow is a blizzard in her mind
And the cold is incurable.
So she sleeps when she can,
And wakes when she must.
Until, of course,
The day she can replace his old t-shirt
That she wears to fall asleep
With his strong and kind arms.
And she can replace the cold night air on her lips
With his.
So her dreams are stuck in euphoria between goodnight and goodmorning kisses.
That's how she'll survive the snowfall.