I noticed how the leaves had turned to snow flakes in shock; as if it had happened overnight. The crunch of the fallen oranges and reds had manifested into a powdery white flake that made a soft "whoosh" with each step. The small, fluffy clumps danced through the sky in a delicate manner. The performance was so transfixing that the slow and lovely waltz of the crystallized water and twirling wind would be enough to trick an unsuspecting girl into believing that the cold would never hurt her.
However, down on the hard concrete floor, with the weight of reality always overpowering a little girl's dream of love... the show that continued up above my head was truly only a show because down here, with two feet on the ground, the cold had teeth. As the wind howled and bit at my fingertips in a freezing gust, I realized how much I ached to hold your hand.
I was under the scrutinizing eye of the cold and the judgemental tendencies of the winter world as I stood on the street corner and let my thoughts turn and tumble until I wondered if you ever thought about me.
Did my face haunt you in the warmth of a shower? Did my voice echo through my old favourite song? And, most importantly, did your hand feel as empty as mine?
