Ice

I often sit on my bed gazing out the window...
Watching the lonesome winter set in.
But still I am a traveller and of the mind I wonder.
And maybe you were the chill in the winters cold and I was just the falling snow.
Even now as I sit in a warm room with a pencil in hand, your chill still passes through me.
I don't want to beg your pardon...
I don't want to ask you why...
But if I came back as rain instead of snow...
Would you still freeze me over and crack my surface just to watch me cry?