It's winter.
I look out of my window,
wondering when the cold breeze
will hit my face,
playing a rhythm in my heart,
emptying my mind;
I wait.
Days pass,
I wait.
A few weeks gone now,
I'm waiting.
It's night,
I miss the moon,
who is nowhere in sight.
I sit in front of the window,
disappointed by the nature,
regretting my love for winters.
I can see someone lighting a fire,
trying to make themselves warm,
and then I realize,
I have a heart too cold,
the breeze can't satisfy me,
I need it to snow.
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 5:05 AM UTC
It's winter.
I look out of my window,
wondering when the cold breeze
will hit my face,
playing a rhythm in my heart,
emptying my mind;
I wait.
Days pass,
I wait.
A few weeks gone now,
I'm waiting.
It's night,
I miss the moon,
who is nowhere in sight.
I sit in front of the window,
disappointed by the nature,
regretting my love for winters.
I can see someone lighting a fire,
trying to make themselves warm,
and then I realize,
I have a heart too cold,
the breeze can't satisfy me,
I need it to snow.
