My heart yearns for warmth, light evenings, daffodils... but you still don't come.
I look from the window; press my face against the pane of glass, breath steaming up 'til I can't see anything at all. Another night, another morning, I search again once more but still no sign.
Tracing my fingertips over the clues that were left behind, so cryptically... trying to calculate when we would see your return to form. With my ear to the ground I strain for the first sounds, why don't you call?
The breeze carries no scent of things to come. I'm tempted to take to ground, bury my head until it knows with unshakable certainty that you have returned.