Ashy Past

The moon's breath on your face,
and your skin is purple.

A ballerina snowflake dances on your nose,
and you shudder in the cold of the first step of winter.

The fire turns your smile to a golden glow,
and somehow you're not my friend anymore.

You shine much brighter,
You smile much broader,
You sing much bigger,
You seem much braver.

What IS it? Is it the moonlight? The winter's first snow? The fire? I don't know, and I may never. All I know is this:
You're no longer just the neighbor boy gone off to war. You're the neighbor man come back, respectful and loyal...
and somehow, handsome.