Winters Eve

A poem

Photo by Dom Aguiar on Unsplash

It’s winters eve and it’s thirteen degrees outside.
In my experience of living this London life,
thirteen degrees is like early Autumn — mild.
Is it crazy to believe that my least favourite season —
will be the season of breakthrough and walking on light?
I’m so tired of the distance and conflict and bullshit between us.
These are wild times and I am wild at heart.
Let the good times start, let the good times last.