I've been reading Robert W. Chambers recently, and he had a number of short poetic stories within the The Prophet's Paradise. A few of them shared repeating statements, and his gloomy approach to some, including his romance, was somewhat inspiring. I don't rightly know how to describe something like it or this, so I'll just leave it here.
There I stood midst the cold and bitter wind, weary and alone. I shuddered as the wintery grey crept beneath my skin, snaking its tendrils ever inwards. My soul grew numb within the eternal chill.
Through the silence I heard you. The faint sigh of warm exhalations, each breath painting the dull static surrounding me. I staggered forward in the blistering wind, until we stood face to face.
“Where have you been?” I asked, the words raking their way through my hoarse throat. You remain silent in my embrace, my arms wrapped tightly around your frame, fingertips pressed into your skin.
“I waited for so long,” I murmured, still shaking. My eyes command tears, yet they never come. “Why did you take so long?”
I feel your warmth begin to fade. Your image blurs into a dim mirage, swept away into a swirl of ever-fading colour. My trembling hands are pulled inward, finding nothing but the empty space where you had never been.
Silence retakes its place as paramount, the grey enveloping me once more.
There I stood midst the cold and bitter wind, weary and alone.