7 Reasons to Lament the Death of Winter
Poetry
I guess this goes hand in hand with reading, but it is in its own special class. Because poetry was made for the winter. Even poems that were written about the spring or summer tend to have been written in the winter. Just read:
I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.
I love you only because it’s you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.
Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.
In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.
Pablo Neruda
It’s 1:50 pm. Rain. Rain. Rain.