It’s on days like this
that I think of you most:
cold
bitter
dry days
when the skies promise nothing
but burden and ache
and the air is difficult to take in
and the land offers no purchase
for those whom wish to thrive.

There is no growth on days like this
no chance for respite
or improvement of conditions.
There is nothing
but hard truths
and painful revelations.

It is on days like this
that I most wish you were here
to help me bear these troubled hours
and give me something
to hold onto.