December is here , cuddling it's children in his bare , icy cold arms , the children he has fondly named as Winter Gales , Snowstorms , Dewdrops and Frozen Clouds . These kids find their simple childish pleasures of life by making the sun their own , it's warmth they've madly fallen for and leaving the world and all of us beneath them shivering before cuddling the warm blankets and smooching the cup of hot chocolate .
What wicked folks they're !
Ain't this month a bit mightier than the other elevens , courageous enough to announce how the once awaited year is finally ready for departure when the month , itself comes to a halt ? December knocks on our doors and in its welcome song , we all sit down beside the fireplace to count the days remaining in that year , the days which will never knock on our doors again , our huffed breaths slowly promising some festive carols on the 25th . But wait , we don't start the count from 1 do we ? It goes something like this …
31 , 30 , 29 , 28 , 27 . . .
And the day we reach at day 1 , we stop midtrack and take a look back at our snowy and clumsy footprints we have imprinted on the diary pages of this year , some stumbling , some confident , some lazy , some careful , others a bit careless . The footprints recite tales of unfulfilled or fulfilled desires , unappreciated or appreciated accomplishments , unwiped or wiped tears , inaudible or audible laughters and starting the clock again , from a pair of zeroes , we start the count again from 1 .
There's a tender hint of beauty hidden deep within the icy layers of December . In between the nostalgia of a long gone autumnal gush over deserted roads that waltz alongwith the abandoned crimson leaves and the long awaited spring that unfolds the dozing off flower buds , there lies this season , the / w i n t e r s /
Hope might look frozen , but it is camouflaged in the warm cup of my mom's tea , in the lovingly knitted sweaters and mittens knitted by my granny , in the soft furry blanket my dad wraps me up at night , in the wintry white snow that makes me shrug off my love for the bright hues of spring , when the frozen snow dazzles under the fragile icy sunrays and lastly , / in your pen and your soul that is adorned by the power to stop the beating heart and is clothed in a kindness to make the numb heart beat again . /
What are you my love ? Are you a mere human walking along with us , tracing the rough paths of life or the safest shelter for kindness , love and a power to move the world just with your scribbled poetries ? To be honest , I'm in favour with the latter a lot more .
You complain of blue ink spilling all over your dress or stopping your thoughts on the paper mid sentence . I know the poor thing well . These consequences result from its astonishment when it inks your thoughts . Look at it closely , ain't it a bit nervous ? Nervous to wonder if it is brave enough to present a piece of your thoughts , a piece of you , in front of this world.
This month couldn't be more kinder when it offered us one of the greatest poetries , that being / y o u / And I'm left to wonder , if you're another of December's daughters , hidden from this cruel world by the fatherly protection of this month or are you his secret inspiration and the reason even the icy month looks so appealing . ( I'm left to wonder )
My hands that once carried the fallen dried leaves of autumn are now waiting to get mositenend with the coldness of winter's snow . Yes , it's freezing cold , but your words and your smile warm it all . The world might be feeling fragile under the frozen sky , but oblivious it is to the fact that all of us are homing inside our hearts , / a small sapling of beauty / that is slowly growing to unfold itself
~ when the warm months of spring will knock on our doors again
~when the sky will wake up again opening the doors for the sun that will drench the sleeping pansies in its warm love , cooing "rise and shine my darlings"
~when the sunbeams will knock on the doors of the butterflies again
~when the flowing river will look welcoming again
~when the skin on our bare arms will be burning underneath the sun , but we will continue to dance again
A small flower of hope grows in us , a bigger one of love grows in you . // Just like December , you're a crystallised apricity too //
~ From your beloved , ARYA ______________________________
ak_anjali_daydreamzzReading this I feel like we are all sitting around a campfire on a snowy night and dancing and singing... We will write love letters for each other and read it... Just like I'm Run BTS and we will cry and we will smile.. but we will be together...
I wish this be real coz then it will be the most beautiful moment... Right now reading your love letter is the most beautiful moment today... Saranghaeyo Bae... I will always keep this letter in my heart.❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
ak_anjali_daydreamzzI realize that I'm reading you after so long. I'm so sorry for that... Bogoshippo