secrets.

December

"I can say that I, too, remember,
The cold of that horrid December.

Suppose my memory's not bad after all
So vividly I see myself fall

I remember the way that I hurt you
The way you hurt well into June

And I see how you cried every night
You still do — it causes such a fright

How would we ever make a life together
When it's such a fight to make it past September?

What will happen each cold November?
Which I know always makes you remember?

When will we get past this weather,
Which tears our future like plucking a feather?

Will you ever forgive me, and I, you?
Will we ever see December as more than just blue?

December is a time of joy and of love.
I wish I could say that I wanted you here, dove.

But instead we are bitter and cold
December's joy growing unbearably old.

We won't have much more of this love.
When we don't know how to savor it, dove.

I don't believe I can ever forgive you.
And you to I — December must just be blue.

You just can't get past this weather,
While I still feel as light as a feather.

We should learn to savor November.
Maybe stop trying so hard to remember.

Maybe we could live our lives together,
Though the cutoff would be in September.

Maybe we can whisper nothing each night,
And in October cause such great fright.

I know that it was bad, how I hurt you,
And that you're only really good in June.

I suppose my memory's not too bad after all.
Because it takes good memories to make me fall.

But I can't just stop remembering.
The cold that December will bring."

-c. e.