The mossy, willowy green comfort of the forest is gone. White reigned. Snow fell from the grey skies and piled, blocking my kingdom into isolation. From my window I mourned the sun.

"It's November," he says from bed. "Don't be so surprised. It happens every year."

Things were different last November. As was the one before that, and the one before that, and the one before that. I never felt the sharp changes of the seasons before. Not in my kingdom in the forest. Everything was paradise there: the golden sunlight passing through the leaves, the cool shade of impossible trees, the plush fertile ground, the harmonious song of nature, the magnificent painting of the sky, and the luscious smell of various flowers mixing for the perfect fragrance.

Now all of that was gone. White ices over my forest and makes the skeletons of my time there into haunting sculptures. I can never set foot there again. Not when every leaf will demand explanation of my loneliness and my broken heart. How do I go back there if the man in my bed is not the one that ruled my woodland kingdom beside me? How do I explain that we fell to pieces and I still haven't figured out how to put myself back together? No. I can never go back. My kingdom is now a cemetery. My love is buried there.

"Your ice cream is melting," he adds, finally pulling my attention away from the view outside my window.

He is ethereal in pale light. His golden hair is disheveled, reaching his ocean blue eyes from when I tugged at the roots trying to climb to heaven. There is a soft, tender tilt on his kissed lips as he extends the small carton of mint chip.

For a moment I see pin-straight, raven hair (so long and perfect that I can feel myself about to groan in envy), tanned, scarred skin (contrasting with my tattooed paleness that told hidden stories), and red lips pulled into a smirk (making my knees weak every single time). I blink and the past is gone.

"Where are you going?" he asks as I slip on my discarded underwear and exit the bedroom.

"Whiskey!" I call back.

 Lots and lots of whiskey. Anything to drown out the memories. Anything to feel warm again.