Winter oh winter

by Han

My spindly fingers were in contingence with the frosted window pane. Bitter cold.

Gazing out of that mullioned frosted window, there was a carpet of white that beckoned me so enticingly.

Out there on my neighbour’s lawn, the grasses were stiffened with frost, the remaining brown leaves clung to the ends of an oak tree, icicles hung from roof eaves — threatening to fall. A sheer layer of ice on the concrete road — slippery and treacherous.

Snowflakes fell from the empyrean. Graceful and gentle. Like how the crisp copper leaves would fall from the oak tress in the autumn wind.

The bejewelled snow crystals that formed on the glass window pane were so beautiful. Mesmerising.

Winter was without a doubt, a dishevelled beauty.

Inside, it was toasty warm. I sipped my hot chocolate, glancing out at the hazy fog and neon lights. Christmas was coming.

Spending the winter days alone in my abode was probably what I asked for.

After a month, the extreme desolation began to seep into the very blood and even the winter wonderland around me could not jolt me from that isolated feeling.

It was I who let thou go. It was I who let thou forget. It was I who let thou loathe.

And now, I can only regret. Repent for myself.

There was nothing much I could do now, could I?

The more I reminisce the good old times, the more I fall deeper into the quicksand of bittersweet memories.

Victor Hugo was right:  “Those who do not weep, do not see.”

Tears are such wonderful magic. They cleanse the soul, evoke our compassion and most importantly, allow us to see objects that one could never see when embracing happiness.

I miss you. Your care. Your concern. Your alertness.

When I was overshadowed by blues and woe, you knew it all. I don’t know how and I don’t ever want to know.

Let this be a mystery that I can always fall back to and embrace with infinite rapture.



The lucent moon was surprisingly bright tonight, like an ornament hung perfectly on the midnight sky.

The snowflakes danced and pranced in the crisp dry air.

The fireplace was a blazing inferno, the sound of hissing sparks and ashes warmed the abode. The flames, too, danced around the fire-wood, bright tangerine and blinding.

Winter is indeed a wonderland.