No,
I wouldn’t say the air is crisp,
No. It’s? soft
Inviting
It’s pure nostalgia of things
Never experienced.
It’s long walks with strangers in the park;
It’s nights working the graveyard shift alone
When everything seems dead
But you feel so alive;
It’s a kiss on the Brooklyn Bridge at night;
It’s the way your paramour gives you a secret smile no one else knows;
It’s knowing it’s your second year sober and your kids come home;
It’s holding hands with a mystery in the snow and not regretting sneaking out;
It’s the opening night of your dream show;
It’s leaving the cinema
And realizing it’s still daytime;
It’s being gone for so long
And finally sleeping in your own bed.
Hello, Winter
Old friend.