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Favourite season?
December 29, 2025
These winter mornings breathe you back to me.
It was your favourite season, wasn’t it?
The season when I fell for you again and again—
for your laugh, your eyes,
and of course, my favourite season: winter.
Winter mornings, so cold yet delicate,
show their versatility by masking the cold sun with fog,
almost like your eyes hidden behind your hair.
Oh, my favourite season—the winter season.
Winters, for me, used to feel empty, repressive.
But that was when I learned they were your favourite.
You must be so radiant now,
since winter is already here.
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This poem reflects on how winter becomes a vessel for memory and longing. Through images of cold mornings, fog, and a muted sun, it explores how absence can still feel luminous when tied to love. Winter, once empty and repressive, transforms into a season of quiet remembrance, carrying the warmth of someone who is no longer present but deeply felt.