My winter

You know it's not for you. 
Not the song, nor the touch, 
kisses and such. 
You are just the object 
on which they project their pain. 
And you envy their pain, because, at least
they are not alone with it.
You, men, you untouchable, unreachable, unreasonable, unreal...
you are my winter,
every singel fucking year.