One Cold Evening

The sun kept creeping behind the clouds, causing the air to chill again.
 I curled my hands inside my sleeves.

 Waiting. 

Wishing. 

I tucked my feet numbly into my slippers. 
Hoping the sunbeam had left a quiet memory of warmth on them. 

No such luck. 

Just the deep seeded want of warmth. 

The chill touched my skin and set my lip to quiver with cold. 

My fingertips turned white. 
My cheeks flushed red as the rest of my face paled. 

I shivered in my own skin, wishing I could shake free of it. 

Wishing warmth would return. 

Wishing all things.

As Evening crept quietly towards me I collected myself. 
I touched the colder handles of the French doors. 

With a silent scream in the wind, I cut off Evening’s cold hand as it reached between the door and the jam, attempting to touch me one last time. 

Shut and locked. 

He was unwilling to let me go. 

Like a former lover freshly cut loose. 

I closed the door behind me like an unfeeling sociopath as he bled out whimpering in the darkness.
Grasping the severed member like an infant in his unmamed claw. 

A wounded animal of darkness pressing himself against the glass of my door. 

Sending stars to dazzle my eyes as gifts in hope I would let him in. 

His clear night and sounds rang honestly, though the memory of the chill did not leave my thoughts. 

A tinge of sadness stained the sleeve I used to wear my heart on. 

I pitied him as Evening pleaded to come in. 

To be nursed back to health. 

To be with me tonight, like we used to be in Summer’s come and gone. 

The summers I would lay beneath him and gaze at his stars. 
I knew his heart beat would let go and he would die to Day when she came. 

A tear made a canyon as it slid down my face. 

I would long, but not relent. Tonight Evening’s whimper would ring clearly and haunt me as I rested. 

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