Winter is dull, but comforting.

Like walking to the bus stop numbed by the cold air breathing on your skin,

Seeing your breath form a cloud,

That cloud drifts away from you.

Time seems to stop.

Your brain travels elsewhere as you stare up at the stars.

You hear someone talking to you,

But your distracted by the dullness,

The numbness,

The coldness,

The whiteness.

Winter traces its slender fingers down your spine, leaving behind a cold chill.

You feel it’s sharp breath on the back of your neck as you listen to its steady breathing.

Winter always wraps me up in a cold but oddly comforting embrace before school each morning, reminding me that the world can change from hot to cold.

That it can change more than even that.

I imagine it’s icy eyes longing for fireplaces as it stares at me.

I can feel it when it briskly walks past me.

Winter tilts my chin up towards the trees reminding me that beautiful things come to an end, and are left barren and dead.

Winter whispers in my ear,

“Your the only one that understands that I have to be cold.”

“I know Winter, your perfect just the way you are, in your cold and comforting sense.”

I can feel Winters frozen tears fall onto my hand like hail.

“I love you Winter, even if I don’t like the cold.”