Frozen hearts

I hate winter. I hate the cold. I've always been a summer type of person, being born on a sweltering April day.

Winter is just depressing. It's barren, devoid of greenery, lifeless and harsh. It serves practically no function at all, except propelling the world into a cycle of death and rebirth, soiling and cleansing, darkness and light. Which is a contradiction in itself.

Deep down inside I realize that the changing of seasons is a metaphor to life -- that change is inevitable, and life and death is constantly revolving. Perhaps, the laws of the world is governed by this concept. The rise and fall of the tides... Sunsets and sunrises... the waxing and waning of the moon... the evaporation of water and the fall of rain... The need to sleep and wake up... Everything has its own purpose in this world, even if we may not understand it.

So what does winter symbolize anyways? Maybe... A transition stage, for the world to prepare itself for the colourful spring? A time to rest before the cycle starts up again? They always say that the night is always the darkest before the break of dawn. Maybe that's why winter always preceeds spring -- death will inevitably lead to a new start, over and over again. Wounds will always heal, seasons will always change. Change is constant.

I've been stuck in the winter phase for a long time now. When will my spring arrive? 

Oh, it will arrive, as certain as the sun rising in the east and snow melting into spring. 

The question is... when?