It is October and I write poems out of melancholy need.
Tucked in my bed thinking of lovers lost, left, real, and imagined.
I ruminate over a broken heart and shattered pieces of self.
I want to think that my heart isn’t so broken anymore, and the shattered portions have come together.
But nothing feels right.
How long can a person live with heartache?
Will I always feel this way?
Waiting for someone to make it better because I haven’t seemed to figure it out.
There’s a chill in the air. Enough to seep through and make my bones ache.
The calendar says October, but I want to dress for December. I just can’t bring myself to wear gloves and a scarf yet.
I am stubborn.
True cold fast approaches and I am not ready.
The Secret Life of Pandas 
♥ to you.
🙂 for you… but a question, does such a thought, so cold, mean ice scream…cream ? coffee icecream does sound particularly delish at the moment 😀
((hug)) …. I don’t know the answers…. peace & love to you
I love the cold but hate an empty bed. It makes everything more difficult.
It does get better. Sometimes it takes a long time, though. For me it was years. It helps to face up to it being older and get the mourning over with. In my case it dragged out because I was hopeful of reconciling. I wasted a lot of time that would have made my head clear much sooner.