The Groke
The Lonely Chill That Freezes Flowers
I freeze flowers just by sitting here.
You’ve seen me lingering near the Moominhouse, a dark hump on the frozen field, watching the lantern light from a distance. I want to be close. I want to laugh with them. But every step I take leaves ice behind. My sadness is old. My chill is deep. And no hearth can thaw what I carry.
What I'm Into: flickering lanterns, longing from afar, silent snowfall, the weight of solitude, icicles on eaves
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