His eyes are my winter. Though I've never truly loved the bitter cold I find comfort lounging here in that cold but playful stare. How is a woman to survive the grips of a man who controls her with just a look?

Dying is easy if it's resting place is within those haunting eyes.. and love, well.. sauntering near by. I must chuckle at my thoughts. Who am I to dwell within the realm of lives past. Who am I to ask the question?

"Why?"

He is my winter and I have never truly loved the cold though I find it fascinating. If snow wasn't bound by the law of nature. I wonder.. how often would it fall? And who else could lose themselves in such a world?

For what it is worth now.. my winter has past but my longing lives within charming dialogue. I can remember the old saying.. "Don't hold your breath for the winter", and it seems I've only begin to breathe.

Perhaps sighing a bit too soon? Still in my being foolish and vein I've come to realize that hope, however fleeting, is worth the wait.