there is a familiarity to the winds of winter,

there is a familiarity to the winds of winter,
as, after all, it is the starting point.
within the aching chill, i have always
struggled as i sought for warmth.
i spent the better portions of my year
looking beneath creaking chairs
and peering into darkened rooms,
always searching for something to
keep me warm.

i thought i could find solace under
an afghan. the thickened skin of the
blanket took place of my own,
frail and paperlike, peeling away
like mache at any sight of the winds.
but the afghan, i learned was no
shield for my broken body.
the holes skipped in the stitching
gave way. they say they're
supposed to let you breathe,
afghans, but i was asking to suffocate.

i did not want air rushing into
my lungs, inflating me only to
dissipate with time. no, i did not want
that, the chill of the air to sting
my throat as it went down, down,
down,down into my very core.
i was asking to suffocate.

i wanted to burn up. i wanted
to be consumed by something.
the whole of which would surround
me, my tiny body, and cradle
what was left of me in its arms
and sway me back and forth to
discordant melodies, songs
of my own discontent. through
these wordless rhapsodies,
the cathartic blood in my veins
would pump in time to the
count and birth life into the
grey and melancholy around me.

i wanted to burn up and i
looked for a fire, and i saw
kindling in your eyes, shades
of toughened bark, speaking to
years since past, the roots
of which i had yet to find.
i did not even strike a match to
set you aflame. there was no need,
when your body was already
a hearth, and inside your chest
lay flames licking your heart and
fueling your childlike soul, breathing an
energy i had never before encountered.

with such an inferno inside of you,
it was a wonder there were no
passersby watching the incandescence
of your spirit. i caught sight of
the blaze and hoped your brightness
would illuminate me.
so, i was nothing short of in awe
when you stripped your bark and
ignited a flame within my own
hollowed body, giving light to the
bleakest and most monotonous
aspects of life.

it happened so quickly that i
did not stop to learn the mechanics
of holding a fire inside my belly.
i would speak and syllables would
fall from my lips,coated in heavy
smoke, each one keeping you warm,
yet making you sick. my
inexperience let embers spill from
me and scorch the ground beneath
us, marking territory and at
the same time, guiding me like
small beacons would a ship
in the night.
you were my beacons
in the night.

and your light did more than just
give light. you gave warmth, the
immeasurable, passionate fervor
of heat that had the ability
to spread throughout the entirety
of my limbs and regenerate a
feeling in hands that were once
clumsy from the cold.you moved
more than just from place to place,
you moved me in ways that
a composer dreams of moving
his audience, and instead of
instruments, you had me playing
words.

through my words i've created
symphonies, and this one is
for you. we've only shared a sonata
so far, but there are three more
acts to go, and i can't imagine
a sound any sweeter than the
notes we've written so far together,
on the margins of notebooks,on
the plaster of canvassed walls,
and even the silences between us
ring like bells in my ears and
i sincerely hope that the rest
of humanity has a soundtrack so
saccharine as mine that i find
delights not just in candy stores
but also in waking up to your eyes.

i sincerely hope i'm not the only one
who feels such warmth and tastes
such sweetness every day of their life,
who even in the winds of winter
can find comfort in the fire within
because this feeling is so
indescribably pure and holy that
i really do think we can right our
wrongs and write a future where we
don't need afghans to keep us
warm when we have each other.