Erin Mauricio, Philippines

to the girl i was 365 days ago:

winter will not be kind.
( it will take you by the hands and rest its palm on your waist and slow dance you through growing older and saying goodbye;
it will whisper sweet nothings into your ear to distract you from the chill that’s eating you up inside;
it will leave you a few slivers of warmth despite its frozen heart and teach you what it means to live despite the fear of loss.
but it will not be kind. )

( what i’m trying to say is: its claws will dig into your flesh and you will bleed onto the carpet of your now-empty home,
the gramophone crescendoing only to stop and fall into a sudden silence.
it will leave a trace of its chill on your doorstep and scars on your chest you can never erase.
it will mark itself in the warped pages of your favorite novels and the faded polaroids on your wall.
you’ll cry with regret and it will not be pretty, all dripping mascara and tangled sheets and begging for a miraculous return. )

( what i’m trying to say is: your soul will burn with longing and go up in a thick smoke of confusion and loss,
clouding your already muddled judgment. the threads of your sanity will wear thin as you grasp around for straws in the fog to try to get it back,
clawing at the expanse of nothingness that’s spread before your eyes. your hopeful resolve will crumble like the sands in an hourglass,
marking each passing day the space beside you on the bed has gone unfilled. an aching gap will worm its way into your heart,
and it will stay for so long that you’ll even learn to call it a friend. )

( what i’m trying to say is: despite all that, stay for spring.
the azure skies and the emerald grass won’t fill that hole in your heart but they will send it warmth,
and the gentle winds will arrive to remind you of what love should feel like.
words and pages will feel more like home than they ever did before and you will once more find comfort in the worlds you’ve always tried to reach.
you’ll run with the poets and paint with the artists and you will live,
chasing down your dreams amongst daisies and poppies and the soft melodies of the birds chirping outside your window.
your heart will thrum with astounding excitement and ineffable mirth, soaring through skies with the healed-over wings you never thought you’d use again. )

( — your soul may not be whole but your days will be as bright as the time before winter came and left like the snowfall on a sunny day —
so stay, stay for the summers and the autumns and the moments in between;
for the roses on your windowsill that bloom and wilt with time;
for the gentle drizzles and the howling storms;
for healing and hurting and whatever falls in between;
and for life, as harsh as it gets, who will always welcome you safely home. )

Erin is a 17 year old Filipina-Chinese writer whose affinities lie in literature, art, and film. She most enjoys writing poetry and prose-poetry, but she has also dabbled in other forms of creative writing such as short stories, memoirs, and the like. Her work has been recognized awarded several times both in school and outside competitions.