In the winter, the cold days would bring cold nights.
And, in the winter, her window would be open and she'd sit by it, letting her mind wander in the depths of you as the cool air swept her and her whirlwind of thoughts into its own maelstrom.
And, she would daydream of you with the brisk winter breeze gently coming in, wondering if this is what it felt like to be in love as the hairs on her arm lightly stood up.
But then the spring came, and with it the heat. And, one night, she closed that window for the last time. One night, she let her mind let you go.
And only when she started missing the cool air and the brisk breeze did she notice how much she truly missed you too.
But it was too late. The sun would set late at night, rise early morning, and she would hardly get her chance to sit by the window. So you slipped away, quietly and unknowingly, until one day her heart insisted on opening the latch, on letting in the air.
But the air wasn't the same. The air was heavy, sticky, uncomfortable.
She didn't like the air anymore, and she grew jealous of the girl whose window can now let in that brisk breeze and that intoxicating whirlwind of thoughts of you; of how maybe you even sit on that window sill with her; and of how maybe, just maybe, the hairs on her arm lightly stand up as she looks at you and you her.
But she still goes home, where she watches her window from afar, scared of the deep, hurting nostalgia but secretly praying for the cold days to come, and for them to bring cold nights.