Winter has always been tinged with blues and greys. Two comforters and a sheet aren’t enough for you anymore. Your lips are always bitten red and raw, and god, I really wish you would stop doing that to yourself. It’s the turn of a new year, and the past two consisted of blurs of motion, colors, and smoke in your head — nothing akin to blood flowing through your veins. I haven’t seen your eyes in so long. 

Please look up.