Winter, our eyes met across the dance floor. You were dancing with the sunrise while I stood in the corner, swaying to the beat. I admit, I blinked back tears, though whether they were for the remorse in my heart or the stinging wind peeling off the upper layers of my facial epidermis, I can't say. I do know that when I captured this picture, of a bubble of ice surrounding the bud of a tree, that your heart is
Don't call me, winter. And my email is off the hook.
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