Think of it not as being cold
but as being beautiful.
Softly falling in midwinter;
frosting over windowpanes
and nipping at her heels
as she walk down lamp lit streets.
The journals filled with the words
he will never see,
as she slowly sits and writes.
Her emotions bleed on paper
and act out memories
that have long since been forgotten.
The aroma of warm Coffee
wafts through the small house,
yet it will always be enough for her.
No matter how cold she is,
she can always remember
a time when snow didn't feel cold,
but when it was beautiful.
On a candle lit evening
when the snow fell outside and
he had taken her hand
and whisked her through
a beautiful past
she will never forget.
She smiles and closes her eyes
thinking of his words:
"Think of snow because it is beautiful
not because it is cold."
