Don’t pray when it rains if you don’t pray when the sun shines.

By Victoria Yee, Editor-in-Chief

The wind blows through my dark hair,
As I step into the cold.

Colors red, pink, purple, and blue,
Streak the sky like a soft painting.

Orange scent in the air,
Sugar, sweet, on my tongue.

Flowers and leaves dancing to wind,
Birds heading home after their day.

And I stand here.
Wind in my hair.

Here\’s to a new year.

What have I done?
Whose lives I have I touched?
When did our souls meet and shatter?
Where did our hands and hearts intertwine?
How many tears and smiles have I caused?
Why am I so blessed to,

On the last day of an old year.

Stand here.
Wind in my hair.

Flowers and leaves, dark silhouettes,
Birds nestling with their families.

Wine scent in the air,
Ice, bitter, on my tongue.

Colors navy blue, grey, and black,
Engulf the sky like a hungry beast.

The wind blows through my dark hair,
As I stand in the cold.

And I cry.

Oh, I am still crying.

 

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