It’s Not December Anymore
I'll always hope for the same memories
That have happened the year before.
I wish to live in the uncertainty
and the ripped papers that depict
a year ago.
But one thing that I miss the most is
the cold and deflective air that
immediately brings me back to you.
I miss rubbing my hands together,
wishing that I had yours instead.
And maybe I'm just packing
up all of the things that I have
ever known -
hoping to recreate them today,
when it's already tomorrow
and the suitcase is