darker than winter, softer than summer


That night I danced to his heartbeat.

His hands were cold as ice, a saying I had never quite understood until then.

My eyes wandered across his face, looking for reasons why I was so captivated by this boy.

He was a fifth season, darker than winter, but softer than summer.

Ooh, how we danced to our own voices.

He promised me things I had never heard, while I knew we were only dreaming.

With jaded lips he kissed my smiling mouth, and I knew for those few seconds I could give him life.

The moon whispered to us, let’s steal the sun’s rays of light, steal the day and celebrate the night.

Now I move my feet but there’s no dance.

One early morning was all it took to chase him away.

Every spring I look for his voice in the song of birds or the color of his hair in falling autumn leaves.

But my baby, he’s never there. No matter how slow I move to the sound of my grieving soul.

I’ll never dance with him again.


Froe x


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