california winter

00:40

 september 13

00:40

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she doesn't know why she even likes the cold so much.

there's just this feeling she gets—she's happy. but at the same time there's this empty, hollow, feeling in her chest where it feels like something is missing. she would guess that the cold fills that gap.

or maybe it's not necessarily the cold, but just listening to the sound of the winter months.

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it's freezing outside—she can see her breath coming up in white puffs.

she's usually wearing jeans or sweats with boots or converse, and there's just something about the outfit that makes her feel warm and fuzzy to the core. maybe it's because she's wearing her favorite hoodie that she can't wear any other time because she does live in california, after all.

but she's warm inside—it feels like that once gaping hole in her chest is finally filled up, despite the frigid temperatures she's standing in.

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but winters in california aren't too cold. they're perfect, in her opinion.

it gets overcast and gloomy and it just feels amazing, and when it rains she feels like her soul is complete and she can now die in peace.

when it's windy, she can hear the leaves that are still on the trees where they don't fall, and hear the branches of the other trees knocking against one another or the rooftops that seem so close.

when it's sunny it's still cold, yet warm, because the sun shining down on her fills her to the brim with an everlasting joy.

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but the best part about the cold, winter months, is when it's dark.

it's just filled with so many long nights and short days. the nights are so peaceful that she really can't describe them—she thinks that you would just have to live them.

winter nights are the best, however, alone. alone in the dark where she can stop thinking. and sometimes playing music—she forgets that the world around her even exists.

it's as if for that one, fleeting moment, she gets a part of the world all to herself. a singular moment in history that is so special and unique and all hers.

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she thinks that's why she likes the cold—because she likes to experience it.

she likes to make each and every moment everlasting and unique.

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we go with a happiness slowly deteriorating, arrive with an unknown happiness, and leave with a silent sadness, not speaking a word. a single word could turn into an argument that breaks us into pieces that cannot be fixed.