ONE

I remember the winter where you cried over your wilting roses. You held their delicate petals ever so gently, refusing to dispose of them.

I remember you pressing them in between the pages of your favorite poetry book.

As if the words we never spoke could heal what was once broken.

As if the grief laden words we engraved onto paper could stitch up an open wound.

TWO

I remember the winter where you cut your hands sweeping up the shattered pieces of a mirror you broke.

As if reality would ever deceive us.

As if our reflection could ever hurt us or our thoughts could ever kill us.

THREE

I remember the winter where the moon cried in agony, keeping you up all night.

As if there could ever be enough stars to outshine her.

As if our tears had accumulated in her swollen heart.

Soon the stars will shatter into a million little pieces, broken beyond repair.

Just like our hearts.

Just like our tale.

But at least, this time, we can say we made it through the night.