A Diffident Love Letter

Dear Winter,

Being with you is at the same time draining and painful. I wish I could tell you all of what I feel but I know that you don't care. You never have, and that's part of why I'm leaving. I'll probably see you again, it's really somewhat unavoidable, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. The problem is, I know that as soon as I'm gone I'll start thinking about you. You really are my weakness, you know that? Truly your love is tainted . . . painful. I do love you; you know that, right? Of course you do. What is love but an obsession, and if my thoughts cannot cease their constant dwelling on you then what is my obsession but love? Indeed, the idea of you is more than I can bear. You are loneliness, you are solitude, you are the idle dismissal of those things and people that do not interest you.

You are intoxicating.

You are cold.

You are pain.

Sincerely,
- Augustus