The Memory Of Summers

We are not sure how to take this thing in our hands and feel its tremulous heartbeat. It seems such a delicate thing to take out against this world and all its indifference. The cold snow falls all around us and we are here huddled together, hoping for something more than mere warmth.

We have held on to the memory of summers gone, and warmer days lost, while we wait for their return. The darkness folds in upon us with the heavy blankets of the night, the stars become our only points of reference. We are here; and here we must remain, our hands wrapped together around this gift more precious than ourselves; something that will force us to move on out into the world in search of somewhere better.