January came in silence.
They poured me champagne in a clear glass which I stained with my lipstick.
I wore a black dress, like echoes of sleepless nights, and eyes, like reflections of flame and smoke.
 
January was too slow. Too fast.
I made plans about days that could/would never come. I weaved fragile dreams.
I wanted snow, star-filled nights, non-flammable wings. I wanted blood-rose love.
I wanted all boundaries to shatter.
 
I wanted the moon, the planets, the whole sky. The light and the darkness. The fleeting and the forever.
Tears and shadows.
Blood and dust.
Love and rain.