Thursday, February Fourteenth.

As a figure I mingled in snowfall,
letting the cold wind stand in for your call.
Walking now leaves trails in snowy ground,
so how come I could leave barely a mark?

Empty laughter and bottles could hardly
satisfy for sympathy. Foolhardy!
And still I try to wipe the path from you,
so I can't follow if I wanted to.

No remedy for foot-falls already
made except to wait for fresh snow to mend.
But in the falling powder a picture
appears to chill my heart this lonely day:

My flowers rest next to your empty bed,
because you're in someone else's instead.

goodness that was a struggle to write. counting syllables was never my strong suit, and what results can only be described as forced. the only 2 lines that came naturally were the two that ended it all. those 2 lines did come to me in a kind of picture, which is one of those painfully beautiful images that would put an end to a montage sequence if this was some kind of movie. wipe to fresh flowers in a vase, but the bed is empty. wipe to a scene with two people cuddled in another bed. wipe again to someone else sitting alone by a window or something. i chose to imagine the transition as wipes because it gets used in cheesy romance-related movies. but that's not quite the point.

i think being in a temperate country is helping my creativity. there is so little variation back home in terms of weather, and here it is so easy to let my mood be led by the temperature outside. personal emotions mingle so well with the situation sometimes. the snow is helpful in considering what i frame in terms of the foo fighter's song 'walking after you', except i'm trying feel what it would be like to say the exact opposite.