Winter has tortured me for years, with each year bringing a bigger blizzard to battle. The ice cold, barren feeling drifting within me felt all too much like home.
With a touch as gentle as the sun's first kiss, and patience more plentiful than the stars painted in the clear night sky, I found myself taking shelter from the storm I'd been putting myself through in the most unexpected place. The branching frost that once took root deep inside released its icy grip upon me and in return, a soul as warm as summer filled the gaps left behind.
A friend, a home, a declarer-of-love, a lover-of-the-seasons; he taught me I didn't need to shiver every time I peaked at myself in the mirror over tortoise-rimmed glasses... he sensed the warmth I was capable of. The lengthening of nights doesn't equal a shortening of hope.
I'm no longer gripped by the trembling fear of my own self. My skies have cleared. Winter is my Summer.
A note on seasonal affective disorder. Thank you Colin for showing me how to be warm again.