Winter moved in overnight, a cold, fair beauty. Everywhere you went, people were talking. When she stepped out in the morning, heads turned and eyes widened. How could anything be so lovely, and so entirely without warmth? She glistened in ice-sharp hues of blue and gold and green and everyone spoke in murmurs of a deep, unexplained ache.

Women jealously clutched patterned scarves to their throats and painted their nails in earth tones, warm tones, and sauntered here and there in heeled boots. Men pretended not to notice Winter, nonchalantly baring their biceps in t-shirts and gritting their teeth against her cold disdain and so desperately hoping to impress.

Winter stirred memories in me, for my part; she had the look of an old friend and I felt a joyful comfort in her presence. I daydreamed of Saturday walks in the frozen sunshine and weeknights curled indoors with fleece and soup.

She wore Adventure as her fragrance and I breathed in the scent of her – expensive and ripe with promise – hungrily, greedily. 

Winter moved in overnight. I hoped she would stay.


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