The skyline becomes more obscure as the snowfall moves in on our position. Cozied between these glass walls in bed as the world prepares for ice and flurries. The hours move like hands gliding through hot bath water. They’re deliberate and lush. They needn’t contain more than that tenuous truth to be among the most priceless I’ve ever passed.
The snowflakes begin their delicate waltz as the sky becomes consumed by their incursion. My head is on your chest and your voice ensnares it. The whole world around us is a fluttering and uncomplicated eden in the sky. I don’t miss the nagging feelings that couldn’t find roots here. I struggle to say the words that something is different, but only out of polite form and not in insincerity. Because something is different. Something is not wrong.
For one day, I got to live in a snow globe, and it was perfect.