bitten fingernails massage the chipped paint
on the blue-shuttered windowpanes,
slowly, carefully.

a bitter hostile mind thinks of summer days past, and her.
he thinks of her in silence. she was summer itself.
but summer seemed to have gone away,
and all thats left is winters chill, cold and uninviting.

the sun still shines, but nobody notices.
and all thats left inside is a vacant memory
of the warmth once felt.

summer will come again next year.
this is just the suspension of something more.
something lost, but will be found again.
"summer will return..", he whispers without hesitation.

03/13/2003

Posted on 03/13/2003
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