To love him is to dwell in perpetual winter,
where snowflakes fall as shards of shattered hopes.
Cold winds whisper a bitter truth—
we are ships passing, never to dock together.
In the vast night, our paths remain parallel,
constellations witness love’s silent twilight.
His touch, an icy paradox on my skin,
a tempest of warmth within, an uncanny dance.
No destined harbor for our entwined fate,
yet we sail through love’s straits, bound by chance.
In the quiet of our hearts, a mournful song,
a melody haunting and strong, echoes of longing.
To love him is to endure this wintry romance,
frostbitten, fleeting, yet with a delicate grace.
