14 - winter

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Chill pervades the air, painting the tips of our noses a cool pink under the gentle caress of the wind. Your gaze, unusually weighted, watches me with unparalleled attentiveness. In this very moment, the realisation dawned—it was more. As your pearly teeth met slightly chapped lips in a smile, I discerned that the peculiar, jumpy sensation in your chest wasn't mere nerves; it was the flutter of a butterfly.

Much like the petite and delicate insect.

My love for you emerges, shedding the unsightly cocoon woven by my fears and insecurities.

Ironically, butterflies unsettled me during childhood, despite symbolising transformation. Tiny legs supporting paper-thin wings, silently fluttering in early spring. 

Yet, as gracefully as they soar, their delicate wings are as easily severed.

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