SpreadyourArt

I. Winter Today, her eyes looked cold. She looked just the same, with her clothes so old, but she didn't call my name. And that was odd. She stared blankly, sadly. The empty chair wasn't mine, I searched there madly, but she was out of time. She wasn't dead, she tried to hide. Before going to bed, I cried. The thing I was missing, was her. II. Autumn I tried to talk. But she turned her head. I thought on a walk, was I the one that is dead? Her only words, 'I hate you.' 'The end', I thought. But no, it was not! My father taught, 'She is guilty, you were not!' III. Spring A new beginning, find it in the dead, the w