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As the winter winds litter London with lonely hearts,
Oh! The warmth in your eyes swept me into your arms.
Was it love or fear of the cold that led us through the night?

There’s just something about the cold season. It starts slowly, almost unnoticeably, with the first copper autumn leaves. A sort of a melancholy you just cannot identify fully. You’ve made its acquaintance before, it has a familiarity about it, but its source is evasive. It ebbs just when you think you’ve discovered why your feelings have turned a shade of blue.

It envelops you more and more, it wraps around your heart tighter and tighter as the temperature falls and as the rime covers the trees and the still half-green grass.

As the fog invades the city, you suddenly feel the urge to hide under the thick woollen blankets. With your eyes closed, hoping to hear a beating heart through the warm, cinnamon scented darkness. A heart other than yours, but whose rhythm, combined with your heart’s own drumming sound would create harmony.

Winter’s come early this year, wouldn’t you agree?

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