My feelings felt cold and disheartened, thrown onto the empty roads covered in snow. The snow, so crisp, crunched underneath. I felt the icy cold bricks pressing against me, merciless. I closed my eyes. Snow fell down, lightly, comforting, but icy. Street lights glow dimmer. The warm orange glow from the cottages waned. They were not in my world. Just like spring rain, pattering down. Falling, dripping onto me, soaking me with helplessness. Cold. I closed my eyes, shutting them tighter. Shutting out the glare more fully. I hear soft sounds from a guitar. Light. Smooth. Painfully beautiful. It reminded me of an iceberg's overwhelming presence, it's icy breath soaking my skin with it's might. It spoke truth. The notes, strumming off spoke of truth. True pain. Transcending time. One whom no others could understand. A league of it's own.

Old feelings came back. Always familiar but always different. A tinge of something else this time. Experiences made us who we were. I don't detest this feeling. But it still hurts. Like rolling stones tumbling down a frozen hill, a dull thump against it and a louder thud when it lands. It stays there quiet. Till the wind erodes it slowly, leaving nothing but feelings. A dull ache, a dull remembrance that something had been here. Been through here. Left. Presence lingering.

Melody flows through my limbs as i slowly acknowledge once again it's still all right, even if it still hurts. Coursing through me, the crisp notes from the guitar pulsate me back to life. Feeble as it was, i forced my eyes open. Someone had placed a scarf around my neck. A plain but intricately woven scarf. Its stitches intertwined with overpowering love and warmth. Red. Rosy. Warm. I pushed myself up from the snow-covered floor. Snow dusted off me. I shifted the snow about me, sending them into small light showers, floating about my frosty breath. The music had stopped.

The snow was disturbed around me. Footprints. My eyes traced it. Through the light falling snow in the failing light, a silhouette showed. Wait, i tried to call out, but my dry throat made my words stuck inside. I tried to push it out, but there was no sound. I stretched my hand out trying to grasp the last of the person's image. Then, his head turned around to face the light. As if he had heard my call, the old man smiled. His face wrinkled but kind. Atop his bald head laid a worn grey beret. A black guitar case slung across his slightly humped shoulders. And around his neck, a sky blue scarf - just like the one around mine.

Your feelings are a gift. Sometimes you just need to patiently unwrap them so you can find the important message inside. When you feel it, you heal it. - The Key to Healing it is Feeling it: Embrace all of Your Feelings as a Gift

My feelings felt cold and disheartened, thrown onto the empty roads covered in snow. The snow, so crisp, crunched underneath. I felt the icy cold bricks pressing against me, merciless. I closed my eyes. Snow fell down, lightly, comforting, but icy. Street lights glow dimmer. The warm orange glow from the cottages waned. They were not in my world. Just like spring rain, pattering down. Falling, dripping onto me, soaking me with helplessness. Cold. I closed my eyes, shutting them tighter. Shutting out the glare more fully. I hear soft sounds from a guitar. Light. Smooth. Painfully beautiful. It reminded me of an iceberg's overwhelming presence, it's icy breath soaking my skin with it's might. It spoke truth. The notes, strumming off spoke of truth. True pain. Transcending time. One whom no others could understand. A league of it's own.

Old feelings came back. Always familiar but always different. A tinge of something else this time. Experiences made us who we were. I don't detest this feeling. But it still hurts. Like rolling stones tumbling down a frozen hill, a dull thump against it and a louder thud when it lands. It stays there quiet. Till the wind erodes it slowly, leaving nothing but feelings. A dull ache, a dull remembrance that something had been here. Been through here. Left. Presence lingering.

Melody flows through my limbs as i slowly acknowledge once again it's still all right, even if it still hurts. Coursing through me, the crisp notes from the guitar pulsate me back to life. Feeble as it was, i forced my eyes open. Someone had placed a scarf around my neck. A plain but intricately woven scarf. Its stitches intertwined with overpowering love and warmth. Red. Rosy. Warm. I pushed myself up from the snow-covered floor. Snow dusted off me. I shifted the snow about me, sending them into small light showers, floating about my frosty breath. The music had stopped.

The snow was disturbed around me. Footprints. My eyes traced it. Through the light falling snow in the failing light, a silhouette showed. Wait, i tried to call out, but my dry throat made my words stuck inside. I tried to push it out, but there was no sound. I stretched my hand out trying to grasp the last of the person's image. Then, his head turned around to face the light. As if he had heard my call, the old man smiled. His face wrinkled but kind. Atop his bald head laid a worn grey beret. A black guitar case slung across his slightly humped shoulders. And around his neck, a sky blue scarf - just like the one around mine.

Your feelings are a gift. Sometimes you just need to patiently unwrap them so you can find the important message inside. When you feel it, you heal it. - The Key to Healing it is Feeling it: Embrace all of Your Feelings as a Gift