no matter the season, my room is always cold. you want me today but tomorrow i'm old. with weird palms you try to shape what i know. my heart's not a stone it is not yours to throw. when he laid me down, there was snow on the ground and a firefly glow in my toes, it was september, december, january, one of those months. you can apply significance but when you just tack it on like that, you forget your interest, and instead checklists become the priority like extra underwear in january or one of those months. hold it close, now give it up. i hide under the blankets, they know where i am. they tell me theres nothing left of me but i know who i am. they will tell you again and again that your body's been broken never be the same but you'll wake up the next day skin hugging your limbs, missing a sock, you'll be okay. when i awoke, i awoke to soft patterns of light on the walls. in feburary. a milky spring afternoon. winter forever. it was each of those times. there is always a reminder, like fibers tugged from a sweater. but i need to remember that i can always do better.