thirteen square-meters

Outside, the bitter wind blows
snow-flakes, plays them, makes them dance.
She watches them throughout the window,
just analyzing, no romance.
Her mind is wearing suited grey,
the days have brought her on their own,
they measured, and sat on her doorway
and after that, never left home.

Her husband, sitting on the table,
head drawn in the morning news,
sips on his coffee, turns the pages,
doesn´t feel they´re on the loose.

And after 13 years of fighting, hating,
dreaming, keeping-on;
they just woke up this cold, grey morning,
and suddenly, their love was gone.

( as a hommage to a poem i read before)