This bitter cold

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The cold makes me pull you closer, breaking threw this distance and bury my face in your neck, inhale you. I ought to push away from those safe arms of yours, that seem to warm everything in my being with one tiny squeeze
but this bitter cup of happiness in my hands has me thinking this over twice well rolling the cotton of your shirt between my fingers.
I work to shut down my overactive brain now thinking with my hands, my feelings, and this cup in my hands. I'll always be in the cold but I'll have to find a way to pull you in.





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