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2024 november 23 at ten to midnight
it all felt a lot calmer and more comfortable when it was snowing.
the wind spearing my face, hair tied back, no more lines of sight or echoes. suddenly the few flakes grazing my skin became everything, became the focus without anything of the downpour to precede or follow mattering. i don't know if that was what i needed to experience then.
because the snow melted quickly—it always does now, and i think i've made some kind of peace with that, whatever that means, whatever form it manifests as. it's hard to control any reactions, any continents shifting.
as much as i've contented myself with such volatility, the chase for that next snowfall, or anything that reminds me of it—of the new things i got to see in its climate, of the shelters i took refuge in, of the fires huddled around even as it flickered colder and the rusty fire pit fell apart, of the final time we felt like what we were wearing was enough—hurts.
it's bitter. i don't know how sweet it ever was if it's so sickening to look back on. but it's only because i know within me that that snow meant everything to me when it came. it was all i could see, and it made life a blanket instead of a hazy, ugly fog. i was enamored by every shape and motion, choking up when it finally landed, because i knew the pavement beneath my feet, the curves of my shoulders—all of it around me was too hot, too poisonous to the snow i blinded myself by.
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