It was the winter before I would fall in love again. The longest season. I would see no sign of what was waiting in the spring; the blossoming, the new life to come to these old limbs.
It was the winter I ate the sun because I was so god dammed cold, and I was hungry for something that could fill the emptiness.
Love happens but you can’t make it happen. You can’t fake heat you can’t keep from shivering when it’s cold.
It was the winter the phone never rang and even if it did I wouldn’t want to answer because there are some things that don’t want company; the falling in or just apart, the low cry in a dark room after the whole city is asleep.
There are some sadnesses you have to keep hidden away. Have to smile have to say good when they ask. Nobody wants to know, not really. It was the winter I couldn’t even ask myself. Couldn’t tell.
It was the winter before somebody would see me, would know, and then I would open out like a fruit tree, heavy and full and sweet. More than anyone could eat.
It was the was the winter before somebody would call me on the telephone and I would answer. I would say good, and I would be good. I would know the meaning of good.
In the summer there would be love and we could lick it from our fingers like honey.
m . e d w a r d s