The Year Ends, and So Do I

The year is ending again.

Here I stand, rooted on a patch of snow,

Laughing at the cruel truth: you’re not here.

Not now, not ever, not in the years to come.

You’ll never hear my cry or my rage,

My fists pounding the concrete snow.

My tears freeze on the doorstep,

While cheers and laughter echo inside.

You’ll never hear me—how dare you?

The year is ending, and I’ll never see you again.

Oh, how I want to take this snow,

Shape it, water it,

Harden it into crystal ice,

And hurl it at your smug, absent face.

I’d watch it shatter—watch you bleed,

The red carving rivers through the white.

Maybe then, amidst your cries,

I’d find a place to pour my rage.

The year is ending, and I’m still here,

Wounded by the ghost of you.

No snowmen left for us to build,

No memories left to create.

You’re gone.

And the year ends.

Here I am, breaking again on the snow,
As the new year begins.