I Smirk.

The blue cotton threads,
Weaving in and out;
Breathing in and out,
The cold, wet, winter breeze;
A reminder of what that was.
Few, that brought smiles.
Fewer, that had hurt.
A testimony to what is,
And to the anticipation
Of what will be.

At the dark ends
Of the brightly-lit tunnels,
I smirk.