This winter, like a dream, will slowly melt into hidden memories

This winter, like a dream, will slowly melt into hidden memories, Carefully wrapped and left to sleep until the coming year, The cold tap water, which once trembled in our palms like a whisper, Will seek solace in the coming summer, wondering: who will touch it with cold fingers? The breeze through the window, which once played with the curtains like a mischievous dancer, Will now lay sunbeams over afternoons drowsy with gentle slumber, Where you will sink into reverie, floating between wakefulness and sleep, The evening flame, where part of the night quietly burned away, Will scatter its ashes in a gentle wind, carrying untold stories, This winter will slip away quietly, leaving behind a part of itself, Hidden in the pocket of an old sweater, waiting to be touched again, To return with the touch of a hand, brought back to life from memory. Thus, in the flow of time, winter transforms into a melancholic echo, A spectacle of nature that laughs and cries, leaving subtle traces within us, And reminds us that every ending carries the promise of a new beginning, For memories live forever in the heart, waiting to be awakened again.