Winter of the soul. {Poetry}

Look how the snow falls with longing.

It’s like a greeting card from the past,
when we were just children with infinite dreams,
now it’s cold from the soul up into the bones.

I see my bangs flutter,
exposing new wrinkles, but I don’t care.

My eyelashes freeze.
My cheeks are red.
My lips are dry.

I have broken blood under cracked skin
and I only have half a heart left alive.

The rest, I suppose, got lost along the way.
Keep the light off.
Press on in the darkness.

I want to wake up in the fairy tale of my childhood,
projected on paper walls,

told in voices once known only by me,
and see how the snow shines in the lanterns.

Is it cold up there, where angels live?
Or down there, where demons laugh?
Or just here, on the winter-white streets?

Now the night is long and cold,
but I count my years of innocence,

waiting for the morning sun
to throw its rays at my sleeping face,
and awaken my numb dreams from last winter

to bloom lavender buds in my eyes,
apple flowers in my once charcoal-black hair,

to turn my thoughts into magnolia leaves,
and my heart into a magical globe of fragile glass.

Oh, look, it is now snowing in my soul.