dan. the snowflakes drift down, soft and sweet and innocent. they rest on top of my head, perched in my curls like an icy crown, and i look up, blinking at the cold. out here, everything is cold and slow, like i am frozen in time. everything is sweet. if i close my eyes and imagine hard enough, it tastes like melting sugar on my tongue, and after a pause, i smile.
just a little bit.
i adjust my coat, straightening it out. one step, two.
the door swings open, and i step in, eyes still closed, but that's okay. i know where i am.
home. home is quiet, home is safe.
it smells of warm and cool at the same time, something white and soft. the air here is filled with quiet.
later, at night, i lie awake, staring at the dark, shaking hands tapping nervous patterns on my stomach until i push myself up and make my way to my desk, pull out a notebook. my fingers spill out blue and cold and snowflake boys with icy eyes.
my hands do not stop tapping until i have finished.
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