Wandering across the street alone, the cold breeze showed her no mercy. The wind kissed her exposed skin made her temperature increased rapidly. Instead of trying to warm her body up, she was enjoying the weather to its fullest.

Who knows winter could be someone’s favorite season.

She found herself was sitting on a bench at the playground in her neighborhood. Crossing her legs, she put her notebook on her lap. Yes, she brought the notebook everywhere. Flowers of different colors as the cover of the book and her name was clearly written by her mother’s handwriting. Her eyes drifted somewhere else, trying to clear her mind.

“Mom! It’s Mr. Snowman!”

“Good job my baby!”

She wasn’t supposed looked at a family with longing eyes. She should smile widely, writing something inside her book. Unfortunately, she could only look how the mother bent down to meet her son’s eyes. She gave a kiss on his forehead which lasted for five seconds. The child closed his eyes, feeling the love he received. Her lips, also, curved up a small smile.

In a second, the smile vanished as if it never happened.

She flipped the first page of her book. It was her first poem ever.

“The rain is like me,

The roaring thunder is my spirit,

But when the rain and thunder,

Is gone,

There is no me,

In this world, anymore.”

She was not intended to show to anyone except her best friend, Amanda. She didn’t expect her best friend would pass what she had written to the girls in the class. She was almost close to let out her anger. But, one of her classmates said something that made her heart bloomed even it’s not spring season yet.

“You wrote a good poem. I like it.” She remembered the girl’s face and not her name. She grinned and gave her thumbs up. She marched towards Amanda and hugged her tightly, “Thank you.”

“You should write more. I’m going to read each of them.” Amanda chuckled and encircled her arms around her.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” They even made a pinky promise.

One of her tears dropped on the paper, “You said you would read every of my poems.” She wiped her tears away and skipped to the fourth page, her favorite.

“Are you sleeping already,

Actually, I miss you,

To the extent that I could die,