Winter smells like burned wood.
Dark and cosy, resembling a mysterious romance.
Warmth is felt the most intensely,
when it becomes limited and unpredictable.
Pleasures by and beyond the window.
Sugar on the roofs, milk in my tea.
Coated in blankets, dreaming of the morning.
What could be more delightful.
The crunchy whisper of a crême brulée,
as sweet as footsteps in the snow.
The secret to see all this beauty
lies beneath the frozen ice.
Melt or break.
That’s love.
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