Yay! Some cold at last, and even a dusting of snow.
We moved back into the dorm—braving knife-like breezes—yesterday.
It was bracing and heroic - do I want it to warm up?
That’s a hard no.

let’s wax poetic..

Think not of winter as bleak
wrap your steely bones warmly, wear a cap
—for gelid wintertide can bind us together.

Midwinter is the time o' the year to be warm hearted,
to find a companion, a creature fair, a lass (or a manly man)
and suggest a more temperate snuggle— it can do no harm to try.

Think not of winter as bleak
make sweet use of flattery, and face cold’s embrace
likewise, cheek to cheek, with a warming and open heart.
.
.
Snowbird by Rani Arbo & Daisy Mayhem
We'll Sing In the Sunshine by Thornbirds

Here we hang,
dressed in our very best.
When someone walks past,
we hold our breath,
hoping that someone notices.

The lights blink all around us,
the flicker of warmth in cheap
plastic bulbs.
The tree shakes us awake
every time we think that we’re
about to go to sleep.

We tremble enough as it is,
being this close to each other.
I look forward to Thanksgiving.
normally, that’s when the tree
comes out, as well as the garland.
Soon after, I get a chance to hang by you,
seamlessly doing nothing.

Though we hang on hooks,
it cannot replace the feeling
of being next to you
our reflection mirroring one another.
Even if no one else notices,

soon after Christmas,
we go back into our boxes,
until the same time next year.
While we’re here,
I wanted to let you know
that I cherish these times.

Seamlessly hanging with you,
doing nothing.
Every moment an ornament
falls and crashes into the ground.
I don’t want that to be the case
between us
until we are cracked and dull.

I enjoy the time I spend beside you,
even if there isn’t anything to do
but hang in anticipation,
until next year

Feeling the warm breeze in the air
Laying on the grass and looking above
Seeing her smile at me
Seeing her melting the snow
Seeing her breaking the flow
Between me and my thoughts
Leaving some kiss spots
And all I can do is staring at her
Staring at Miss Sunshine smiling at me

Was it a bid adieu, or merely the beginning of an infinite rendezvous? A quiet vow, sealed in silence, to wander back into the refuge of dreams where our moments linger—beneath the timeless tree that sheltered our whispers, on those solitary benches, along endless paths where our footsteps etched fleeting eternity, as if echoing our own unfinished story. To trace the delicate decay of fallen roses, decipher the faded whispers of “miss-you” notes, and relive the quiet intimacy of entwined hands. To seek the warmth of embraces and rediscover the timeless rhythm of those coffee-laden moments, where losing ourselves in one another was the only truth we ever needed.

My eyes begin to fail on themself, like the dawn—I begin to lose sight of my hometown. Lost in the footsteps of my own, I can only hope it'd leave me vulnerable.

I follow the trail of warmth—noticing that this'll only hurt. You trick me to be held on your lap, and I feel at home. The warmth becomes addicting, and it consumes my heart—encased with a sheep's wool.

Though, my eyes begin to deceive me, and as they shut I believe to myself that I've seen a wolf. I hastily become anxious of our time, despite the warmth you provide.

Just as I begin to close my tired eyes—the wool that once encased me had left. I begin to rub my eyes at a single realization. You weren't a wolf, but neither were you a loving sheep.

You were a lady with a loving heart, one that wasn't made for me.

A lover boy, not destined for real love. He holds love like grains of sand, slipping through his fingers no matter how tightly he clings. Each touch, a fleeting promise; each gift, fragile yet profound. Yet nothing stays, everything shifts away, dissolving into the ether. Every heart he’s held, every vow whispered, felt like the final door, the last chance. But love, to him, is like thin air, a bond of whispers that scatters before it can take root. His world is built on trembling ground, every shot to the heart threatening to bring it down. Each kiss plants gardens, only for them to wilt before they’re truly found. Hands reach for him, yearning for the warmth he carries, but all that lingers is his name, murmured into the night. At first glance, love blooms, sweet and sacred, a delicate dance of entwined souls. He gives all of his borrowed light, yet shadows creep through the cracks. No matter how hard he tries to stay, the tide pulls love from his grasp. The warmth of his touch fades; his love, no matter how pure, never seems to hold. He’s a witness to his own heartbreak, time and time again, a love wilting before its prime. Each time, he assures himself, ‘this one will be different’, but the truth remains elusive. Perhaps his heart is wreathed in thorns, unfit to be held or owned. Yet deep within, he longs for a love that roots itself firmly, weathering even the fiercest storms. But for every wall he builds, cracks form in the mortar. The weight of love bears down until all collapses into dust, leaving behind the remnants of broken trust. He wants to stay, to hold on, but love always seems to come with chains and whispers of fear. It vanishes the moment he reaches for it. And when love leaves, he mourns not only its loss but the life it promised, a life of unwavering devotion, never truly begun. Every soul he’s hurt carries that pain, stretching across time like an echo of his own sorrow. If only standing still, planting his feet, could anchor the love he holds so dear. But every time he tries, it slips away, a sun disappearing over the horizon, leaving emptiness in its wake. He’s not meant for what others dream of: the steady fire, the gentle stream. His heart burns brightly, a beacon in the night, but the love it craves is always just beyond his reach, a fleeting flame, extinguished by the winds of fate.