Us at Snowy Village ~ By Crimson Sun

I watched as you stretched one hand towards the fire,

The other, carefully hidden under a layer of red.

I breathed as you breathed, relieved for the shelter

We shared this far away from home, and out of the snow.

~

You sat and I followed, eyes ever on you

While your own gaze never once left those embers.

I am not surprised that you do not notice me.

The fire can give you warmth...what have I to offer?

~

My eyes leave you and trail, towards the window

Where a thousand white specks danced with the wind.

The snow, a thing I could never understand.

How could it be so cold, yet so beautiful?

~

The firewood cracks beneath its burning burden,

And I look back to your frail figure, with your far away eyes,

Dreaming another dream, no doubt, of true love?

A love that burned once but shattered into embers?

~

You are cold and beautiful, just like the snow

Detached, but yet... do you still love the warmth?

If so, why will you not get closer,

So we can share our heat with your rigid soul?

~

Were you once burnt, then melted into sorrow?

A love so intense it left a mark on your heart?

Are you scared, then, sitting a distance from the fire,

That you would be injured again, like you once were?

~

Is love so frightening to you, Vincent?

I guess I would never know.

~

I bring my seat a little closer to the fire

Where you sat, like a statue of snow and ice.

My heart danced when you looked at me

Then slowed when you ignored me and looked back

~

Your eyes spoke more than words to me.

You want to belong, too, but fear the outcome.

I wished for one second that I could be your flame,

A gentleness only to melt your heart

~

But Vincent, I have not the courage

To stand with you and say the words I long to speak.

I am not brave and cannot face you.

I am scared of your coldness and icy stare.

~

So I guess, Vincent, that we could only sit beside the fire

You with your dreams, and me with mine

Your dreams of Lucrecia, of those snowy, blurring memories

And my dream that one day, I will be able to be your flame.

AN: Quite a weird poem... I kept on getting mixed up with the use of my own metaphors, which is not a very good thing at all. The speaker is anyone you would like it to be... possibly yourself, which is actually whom it is supposed to be, adding a bit more weirdness to this piece. Still, this is the result and I am more or less pleased with it. Reviews are highly appreciated. (Yes, Ferio, even yours.)

Ferio tells me to post all my poems separately, which is an advice I am willing to take.