Memories of snow in the summertime.
Days of crying undercovers and hungering for a drop of sunlight. Gray clouds looming over the Midwest and suffocating our souls; causing it to turn gray too. The skin turns into an ash like color, making you forget who you are. Depression is the perfect word to describe the winters here. It’s the loneliest feeling in the world when you go outside and see no one, and hear nothing. Frost killing the fields, and the roads are isolated with sparse traffic. We’re always alone out here. It’s been twenty-three years, and I’m still dealing with it. We walk the frozen roads with hands in our pockets, with flying snow for company.
But here I see you when I close my eyes, walking alone, walking towards me. Hands in your pockets too, and a scarf around your neck.
Your teeth crooked and yellow, your eyes… lost. Your skin pale and deadly, and your vibrant lips, cracked.
Your clothing unstylish and lame.
You are wordless, but I can see your breath in the freezing air.
Before me you stand, isolated, calling out to me… calling out to something,
while the arctic winds cry the loudest silence I’ve ever heard.
Still your face flickers in the depths of my mind. Still the blizzard howls midsummer,
reminding of my gray skin.
Aching for you.