Blanketed in White

I used to fear winter. 

Called it loneliness in disguise. Mornings where breath turned visible, nights that whispered in hush tones, and silence that rang louder 

than any noise I’d known. 

But this time… 

this time it felt different. 

The cold still stung— 

sharp as ever, 

cutting through bone and memory alike. But I didn’t run from it. 

I stood there. 

Let it wrap around me 

like truth. 

The first snow came quietly. 

No grand arrival— 

just a soft hush 

falling through streetlights. 

And for once, 

I didn’t ache. 

I watched. 

I breathed. 

I smiled. 

There’s something about snow—how it makes even the ugliest things look beautiful. 

       How it glistens without trying. 

How it covers, 

not to hide, 

but to soften. 

Maybe that’s what this is— 

not erasing, 

not forgetting, 

just softening 

what once burned too bright. 

Winter didn’t fix me. 

Didn’t fill the gaps.

Didn’t promise anything back. It just gave me 

the quiet to finally accept 

that not everything broken needs to be mended. 

Sometimes, 

you just need stillness. 

To sit with what’s left. 

To let the world be silent 

       so your soul can speak again. 

This is not loneliness. 

This is clarity. 

This is peace that doesn’t perform. A calm that doesn’t beg 

to be noticed. 

Even the trees— 

bare, stripped, 

exposed— 

stand like they’re not afraid to be seen like this. 

Maybe I’m not either.