To the winter sun
Each winter as I open the trunk and smell the warm clothes that have been aching to be worn I think of you: the winter sun. I think of the ways you would fool with me, showing up only when you please. I lie in my cosy bed detesting the thought to leave because I know that when Iâll draw the curtains and look for you, I will lose in this game of hide ‘n’ seek. But soon I push myself to leave the behind the cosiness of my warm blanket and get ready to face the chill. I slip…