Cold

By Ros-ea

 

I sit under the giant oak tree that was once filled with green leaves sprouting from every branch. Now, it’s just bare and shrivelled up, like a peeled, old apple.

Leaning against the rough bark, I can’t help but think about last winter, when we stood under the same tree, my hands in yours as we huddled together in the cold. The snow crunched beneath our boots and wind whipped at our numb faces. The tip of your nose was red, like Rudolph the reindeer. A snowflake landed on your eyelashes, and while you frantically tried to blink it away, I couldn’t help but notice how angelic you looked surrounded by the whiteness. When the sun finally came out, reflecting off the glistening snow, your dark eyes turned into a shade of aqua blue, matching the sky. You looked like you belonged in a painting.

Now, standing alone under this tree, I’m trying to erase all the memories of you.