I know you’re not surprised. Who would be. But it’s over between Winter and me. We started out strong, all cuddles and hot chocolate, all romance and fires, bundled together in cashmere and wool, fur and more cashmere. It felt so good, the two of us together. We felt safe and protected and cozy and soft. Maybe I was even a little cocky in thinking, We’re not so bad together, Winter and me, we’re going to make it through this time. Ha, what a laugh. Now Winter is just endless cold shoulders and icy stares. It feels as if a bleak landscape of greys, blacks, camel and navy loom ahead for us…forever. We just aren’t getting along anymore. We don’t want to snuggle in our gloves, hats, boots, coats, scarves. No longer is our love new and soft. Everything feels old, worn and used between us. Kind of like wet wool and pilled hand-me-downs. It happens.
The truth is, I can’t stop thinking of you, Spring. I look forward to your return in 55 days. I’ve put it down in my calendar, in ink. I’ll be there at JFK to pick you up. I’m making room in my closet and drawers just for you. I’ve already planned what we’re going to do together: Walks on the Hi-Line, biking in Prospect Park, a stroll along the Brooklyn Heights Promenade down to Jane’s Carousel—the jewel of DUMBO. How about meandering through the Met and the Guggenheim and then having lunch at a sidewalk cafe? I know, lovely, right? I miss you. I want you back. I want our love to bloom again.
Sorry I was so fickle with my love for Winter. You were right. It was fleeting.
I know we’ll have our storms together, Spring. We always do. But we’ll weather them, and they’ll never feel as awful as Winter’s cold heart. I’m counting down to your warm embrace—is it March 20th yet? Come back to me, Spring. I’m here…waiting…just for you.