Winter tends to dredge up memories; that's when my mind does its spring cleaning, just a season early, that's all.

I remember that no matter what, you always had an answer for me. Sometimes it would take a while, but you were always there. Whether by word or deed or thought.

Sometimes I miss the comfort of your prescence. Sometimes I wish so very much that you would come back.

But as I said, winter tends to uncover old memories, and my mind will go where it will: Memories of you aren't all that happy, I just paint them that way.