February crumbled me to pieces.
February grinds my frozen frosted eyelashes in the dust that hides in the corners bedrooms.
And my eyes (vulnerable, exposed to sharp tongues of snowflakes) greedily absorb disgusting reflection of the white world.
I’m typing your name on a sheet of paper.
Again. And again. And again.
Spotless pages are languishing on the floor near the window…
Spotless pages with only one word - February.
I desperately hope that my mindless action will bring your death, and will allow me to breathe again.