MY SPILLED CUP OF TEA.

Winter comes, with him, vague memories. Mist into nothingness, cold, icy rock where we dance whole nights on. Butterflies in my stomach, shortness of breath, your hands, as cold as frost, your back, the place where I shelter on. It was so cold, so warm at once. Playing, laughing, as if we were a couple of kids. As if the world did not matter, as if all problems remain under our feet. Elusives looks, we could not let anyone our secret know. Replicating confidant bells at midnight, the guardian of my door, Don't know if  you will wait on the pathway again, In the middle of the woods you will take me by the hand, and we'll get lost in the dark. Nights listening to the crackle of flames, and a pair of chords lighting the shades. We were aimlessly, retracing our steps. Playing worns. Until the first ended the game.

The day wakes cloudy. I walk down this empty streets, seeing the grey sky that the storm precedes. Steps, lonely steps. Your heart beats louder than them. Your head burns. Breathless, life felt overwhelming, your world falls apart. You arrive, knock on the door, come in. It starts to rain. The storm begins. Thunder, lightning, screams, louder than you ever did. For the first time you feel peace. You breathe.