Writers 
COLD WINTER ❄️ THREE
I turned back, realizing
I should have...
I didn't see his face,
But I could still recognize him somehow.
I looked at the forest before me,
Thick and covered in snow.
And I went back,
Hearing the loud cry of an animal
As I walked away.
Then a trail of blood led to my hut.
I cried, hoping it was not him.
I ran in
A bull stood before me.
Dead.
“How?”
I asked.
With his face covered,
He handed me the horns.
I ran out to the village
That didn't see me,
That never fed me,
That never cared.
I stopped
And sold one of the horns
For food.
With the eyes of all
On the outcast.
But with a stranger,
I felt like I was loved again.
I came back.
I cooked
And prepared him a warm bath,
While I preserved the meat.
It was enough
To trade for months.
Without blinking,
My eyes caught a body
I had never seen before.
He stripped.
My heart skipped.
But his face remained covered.
I just cooked,
With the sight of such glory.
Oh, my...
I watched him quietly,
wondering who he truly was.
Something about his silence
made me curious,
yet strangely safe.
I knew nothing about him,
but somehow,
I wanted to know more.
