The feel of
Cold air biting
At my skin.
The sound of
My boots
Crunching in
The snow.
The stinging of
Air, rushing
Through my
Lungs.
Oh, how I
Love Winter.
YOU ARE READING
Love Me, Love Me Not.
PoetryLove is different. Love is kind. Love doesn't judge. Love is always there, some place. Love doesn't leave. Love can be tough sometimes, but always works out in the end.
