Once there lived a violinist bound by need,
Chasing perfection, driven by greed.
From morning till night, he played alone,
Seeking greatness carved in stone.

One day, a rumor reached his ear—
A Frenchman had come, brilliant and near.
Curiosity burned, though he knew fear,
What if this stranger’s skill was clear?

At the theater, he watched from the side,
As music pierced his heart and pride.
The Frenchman’s notes, haunting and raw,
Exposed a flaw he hadn’t known he saw.

Home he staggered, in fury and shame,
Took up his violin, played the same.
But for hours, he fell apart,
Each note a tear in his breaking heart.

At dawn, they found him, silent and cold,
With his violin, empty and old.
A life spent chasing a light too bright,
Lost to pride, vanished in night.

My mind is foggy,
like a winter morning,
when snow blankets the trees,
turning the world into a fairytale.

Winter awakens memories
I tried to bury deep,
never to be uncovered.
Yet all I want is to return,
to feel it all over again.

I don’t want to endure the storm—
I just want to live,
to embrace the fleeting joy
that winter brings.

But while the world is at peace,
my mind is at war.
This winter, I wish I had known—
loving you would mean losing myself.

If I walk away now,
I will set the bridge ablaze,
and no matter how the flames beckon,
I will never return.

It’s over.
The snow covers the pain we shared.
I love you,
but I have to let you go.

I tried to mend us,
but every thread snapped,
and I called it my failure.

I closed the door behind me,
but I never locked it.
Maybe next winter,
light will guide you back to me.