I hate winter, but find myself succumbing to it in spite of all of my protests and fighting. There is no way to push back the seasons or to turn back time. To go back to the Spring and the Summer. Back to your arms. To long talks about everything that mattered and some things that didn't. To you asking me what I was thinking in those quiet moments in the dark with only the sound of your heart beating and the gentle rhythm of your breathing breaking through the silence. There is a place in my heart that longs for a return to those days. Those moments of life with you. When nothing else mattered and the rest of the world faded to grey. Only you and I were in color. Now those moments return only in haunting flashbacks filled with grief for what was lost - not only you, but also a part of myself. And I feel the shift beneath my feet and hear the cracking of the ice. My hands search for yours to pull me out in rescue. Then in an instance understanding washes over me as I surrender to the icy waters pulling me into their depths. You are gone and I am drowning. Left by myself to deal with the pain exploding in my chest like bombs unleashing their destruction. Cold water floods my lungs and I feel my body sinking, longing to find the bottom where I can rest and let the weight of the water and ice crush me into nothingness, but the agony lasts a while longer as I freeze and fall. Finally, my decent is over. Lying on that ocean floor under a heavy blanket of darkness I am trapped. Held captive by the volume of the memories we made. They stab at me with sharp preciseness. So I endure their attack and try to hold on until the waves subside. I find myself welcoming the winter freeze that is holding me tightly in its grip, drawing the warmth and life from me like poison from a wound. This is where my heart lies buried and broken. Beneath the desolate reaches of winter. The howling winds on the surface whipping snow around in useless flurries like mocking laughter across a barren plain. Surrounded by all this death and brokenness and futility, there is one thought that will not be choked out by the rushing floods of water into lungs or the pressure of all that was lost or the thick darkness that blocks out the sun or the weight of the reality that is all encompassing. One thought that will not allow winter have the last laugh: Spring is coming.