To love in Peace

Caught in a melancholic still-life, we are imprisoned by our own thoughts. Cold wind separating us like a knive, Thoughts hunting us; the fox, the mouse, everything we've ever known dead as the night. The coldness is punishing our loveless love; stopping our dance of agony. So please, stop crying my little dove, i know you are angry, i am aswell. But soon it'll be over. Maybe then we can start over; to love in peace.