Cold winter. I have been losing track of the time without you here. Outside the snow is falling silently, flurries contrasting against dark skies, and I am wondering where you are. The grandfather clock is ticking, a steady sound that is keeping me sane. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. I hear my ribs rattle with every breath I draw, falling in sync with the shutters dancing to the wind outside my window. Tired lungs, inhaling, exhaling, exhaustion slowly taking over. Knuckles white like the unforgiving snow, clutching onto Mother's old ceramic mug, chipped and worn. Comfortable. Familiar. I glance down at my hand, a mold of yours, surprising symmetry. It is empty, dusty with cobwebs. I miss your lingering touch, your hand in mine. I waste away, for I have no heart. You wandered away with it that summer, beautiful and all, dancing away. You left me in a daze and you hardly knew it. Sheer lust, tainted, poisoned. I took a bite out of the forbidden fruit. I should have known better. Lust. Lust. Lust. I want my heart back. My feet are propped up against lavender walls, smooth like satin. The color sickens me for it was always your favorite shade. I stare at my naked ceiling and I want to scream. At first I was afraid my bed would swallow me whole but I realized my thoughts could do the same. I do not fear my bed anymore. My listless behavior is piling up and I am buried beneath spent days. Suffocation. I crave for your touch but I repel it. You poison my thoughts with your placid smile, for it is a fossil imprinted in my mind. Envelop me into your world, starting with your arms. Memories are racing through my crowded mind, scenes flitting around like a silent movie. I start to dwell on the irony of it all, the weight of human memories. I remember the things I want to forget, and forget the things I want to remember. Cruel irony. A mocking betrayal. I swear I feel Mother's ceramic mug quiver under my cold hands. Maybe it is just me, unsteady and shaking. I do not know. Remember when you used to steady my trembling, ice cold hands with your own calm, warm ones? I need you here. I want to fling all of our memories out the window so I can go about my days, but alas, I cannot, I cannot. Cold winter. Cruel winter. If I do not make it by the time the Earth thaws, you will know why. I am wondering where you are. You torture me.