Let’s get one thing straight, snow. I will never be welcoming you with open arms, or, rather, I won’t be welcoming you at all. Even more so, when you come over and flash your cold shiny teeth at me it fills me with terror and freezes my heart. I don’t know what to do with you. You’re the cold version of king Midas. You scare me. Whole autumn I hold my breath, I savor the scents and save the colours on my heartdrive and then you come and start erasing everything. You take me apart, piece by piece, brushing over my every memory with your white dust so I would forget what it’s like to...to not endure.
I know, people who live in warm climates over romanticise you. When you fall, it’s considered to be romantic and beautiful. They don’t know how you kill everything, slowly. They don’t need triple cardigans and feather jackets just to survive when you’ve taken over. They don’t know your true colours. The colours of nothingness. The void.
I wish I’d never met you.
(not) yours,
me
