elise.writer

Once, they were little things
of beauty and wonder,
cantering through prairie grass
to a dainty Irish folksong.
Once, they were fresh and vivid,
all colors of the rainbow at once,
gradients sifting through

The cold, its tendrils of wind
like fingers wrapping my coarse being,
the snow, like needles prickling my skin.

The warmth, its blossoming beauty
like a flower in May, the sun is kneaded
in my tender hands to become

I.
Because to you, I am just one more
face in an ocean of blinded students.
I swim my way to the surface, and
I am at the top. The smart one. But
My eyes have grayed from glazed
over pages of studying thrust into

Like an old giraffe blanket that meant so much to me one day
and now, no matter the angle, I simply can't remember
what it felt like to wrap myself in.

What it felt like to love.

Rising from the bitter winter and collecting in my chest,
falling from chapped lips to join the frosty air,
our breath cycles in and out, in and out, running on infinity.
The flames keep us toasty and warm, smoke wafting up

You know too much about me.
Too much for someone
bound to lose themselves
in the hierarchy of hourglasses,
anyway. I still can't believe you did.
My strong arms and legs
were thin and fragile
weak, you could call it