in winter, I am...

I am not feeling as though it is winter.

I am not feeling the heavy sadness weighing down my heart. I do not exhale, close my eyes and wish I could just sleep until the season passed. Not anymore... I think.

I think I am changed, I no longer feel the tug of the past on my heart yet I feel guilty for being this way. Half of me has already moved on but I continue to shackle myself to what is already over.

Each time it died I would breathe life into it, I would give it my own breathe so that it might last a little while longer. I knew but I never truly acknowledged how stupid and naive I was being. Now, with less breath, a mess, and the consequences on my hands I cannot do anything until I have sorted it out... but to sort it out would mean to face the truth and I'm not sure if I am capable of that.

I no longer feel it; I think it. And I know, once it is purely intellectual it is no longer genuine. I can't lie to myself, I've never been able to - yet I still do nothing... I drag it out... I know nothing good can come of this. Even then, I hope that I can ignore it long enough for it to lose breathe once more, and this time around I won't give it my own... it will die slowly and it will not have been my fault, seeing as how I have never been obligated to revive it, even from the beginning.

But the guilt... the guilt is real. Even though it's not my fault, the guilt won't go away.