i wish our winters were one in the same but they never will be.
So perhaps I should stop wishing it so..
My ice cave is running out of time.
it's slipping through my fingers and into the blackness below and no matter how much I clasp at it, it trickles down my hands and into the void below. how long do you have left? did I do enough to fix the clock? will I speak to you tomorrow or will you fall down silent and still? the ticking isn't showing signs of stopping but it's the unending feeling of dread that keeps me awake, listening for the final tick to echo through the darkness. don't let it be the final tick.
please..i love you...
