Happy Holidays everyone! I actually wrote this story on Christmas Eve last year. It's kind of depressing, sorry about that. Hopefully no one's Christmas is as angsty as this. Enjoy!

It's Christmas Eve and I'm spending it alone. I'm spending Christmas alone too. It's been so long since I've spent the holidays alone that it's almost a relief. Yet I can't help but think of you.

It's been so long since I've heard your cries in the howling wind. Your favorite season was summer—the same as your name you told me when we first met. But I later found you to be the exact opposite. You were always cold and sometimes—often—biting. But when we curled up in front of a fire, then that was bliss. Then I could feel the warmth, the life under that cold exterior. I guess the fire melted away your frigidness the same as anything else frozen. Was it too much for you? Was my passion stifling you? Suppressing you? Because after a while it seemed liked you caved to my touch too easily—and you got resentful because of it. Though whether your resentment was directed towards me or yourself, I could never tell.

You tried to hide it but I could always tell that something was wrong. I got too close, too near, too warm so you retaliated by pushing me away, blowing me off with your icy stares and frostbitten words. And soon we would be fighting, throwing words like sharp shards back and forth. And at night under, you believed, the cover of the shrieking winds, you would sob and that would be enough to soften my resolve, drain my anger. What I didn't know, what I wish I knew, was that in the meantime you were hardening your heart, encasing it in an icy tomb. And I was not to be the one to melt or unearth it.

You began to change, to live up to your namesake I suppose. You became a hot blaze of passion. You shined brightly, brilliantly, every day. You were warmer, hotter. I liked it—at first. I thought you were finally warming up to me. But you were like that with everyone. And like the hot summer sun, although you were brilliant and hot, you were also far away. So far away, until you disappeared altogether.

Did I do something to hurt you? Did I try too much to change you? Although the memory you left me with was of a bright hot Summer, I still remember the ice cold Summer. Every time the wind blew, I thought I could hear your pitiful sobs. The icicles reminded me of the harsh words we threw at each other—and I would regret mine. Watching the snow melt made me wonder if that's what I did to you—melt you, water you down into a completely different form. And I would sit outside just to be in the snow again, just to feel closer to you. I almost got frostbite.

This is the first Christmas I've spent alone since you left. I've always been with either my family or some other girl, but she would never compare to you. Never warm enough, not cold enough. I've stopped hearing your sobs in the wind, stopped feeling your anger in the cold, stopped seeing your hurt in the icicles, your face in the snow, stopped sensing your presence in the wintertime. But though I've stopped associating you with the cold, I don't think the cold ever left my heart.

And now my heart is frozen too.

As always, reviews would be greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading and have a Merry Christmas everyone!