it wouldn't be like this.

that armchair next to me is as empty as the years would have been without You.

but I can't remember a time when I didn't know You to be next to me in all of these rooms,

even the ones where I could see my breath.


It wouldn't be like this, You know.

if winter never came,

and You hadn't let the cold in,

that cold, it was the unbearable kind.


You knew then it wouldn't be like this between You and I, not without the winter air.


because had it not been I wouldn't have known the warmth of Your words

and all that You left here for these begging hands of mine,

a beggar with pride one-hundred miles high veiled by good deeds veiled by a verse or two.


and I wouldn't have seen You in the glorious days,

or the shadowed days,

or the ones heavy with longing for something called forever.


But I can't remember a day that You didn't invade,

And I don't know a part of me that You don't inhabit.


and sometimes I think of You in that armchair next to me,

You and Your words that lasted the winter.