This a beautifully written piece.
Winter concocts a peculiar kind of relationship. Lovers don’t wake up too early, after too little sleep, to birds chirping, the usual audience of new love, but to a stark gray sky, the sun too far away from the earth to give us a remarkable sunrise. The emotional experience of winter is flatter. Throw love into the equation and the love becomes a drug trip you don’t want to come down from. This happens year-round, of course, but in the kinder seasons the lover ripped temporarily from his mate at least is kept company by the sun, green trees. In winter he has: indoors, lonely indoors, and too much darkness to indulge an already dark mind.
So there was a sadness to the beginning of our love, a sadness that isn’t noticed as such until you look back on the story from five years away. Then the sadness is seen…
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