The sheets of snow falling so softly quietly translucently drifting featherlike over your heads warming your hearts with their chill crystalline beauty. Look around and don't hear a sound get caught up in this beauty wishing the snow would wrap itself around me and swallow me up because i could use some companionship, i hate feeling so cut off. (is all this a metaphor? Yes and no, i'll let you figure it out)

Noticing once more how little the cold affects me. Watching everyone shiver and moan and complain and realizing that this cold is only skin deep, it can't penetrate. Maybe there's an icecut deeper than this superficial frigidness. Everytime my body shivers i wish you were there to keep me warm, but at the same time i realize i'm not cold at all. Or rather i find this numbgness pleasant. Am i regressing??

See her glide across the ice who is this? There's no denying the surreality of this scene, the wind whispering the snow dancing to earth, the angelic girl in the white dress skating, puffs of snow behind her, a trail of snowcuts intertwining complexly in her wake. She's beautiful there's no denying it, her body is perfectly formed, her long blond hair flows behind, her smile seems genuine and she moves so effortlessly so beautifully. The paradox is in that i recognize all this and i feel nothing. The snow wets my face and i watch her and she seems... lifeless and dead compared to the mere memory of you. You killed all the other girls sweet heart.

Its christmas and i feel like i'd rather be alone than with these people. And i'd rather wash away the blood and bandage up the evidence of your self-loathing than unwrap these presents. And i just want you to be here...

back & forth