Don't Snow

Wind whips pathetic, dusty drifts across unoccupied asphalt. The chill wrenches its tune from the strings of guitars and hearts. This is the final death of my summer. I'm shivering out the open window, empty hand exposed, begging for it all to stop. Memories cost a terrible price.

This week last year, a day thoughtless of snow, I was asking out the Crush. I'm deeper now than then, sinking fast. This year, winter blows coldly down my throat, ever fighting my persistent and anxiously patient summer mind.

I won't wear a bandage; well, then, I won't get hurt. Reversed logic plays Jenga with the magnets that keep me just balanced on the edge of the knife. This isn't Serene standing at the synagogue, professing the climate "nippy". This icily evanescent intruder freezes my heart, reminding me of Christmas, of this and him and that, of everything I've wanted but can't have.

...Please don't snow.