You’re the foreign territory

that I’m willing

to get lost in.



My experience of winter is merely vicarious:

Palms reaching for a falling snowflake.

Fingers placing a checkered scarf around a snowman’s neck.

Arms and legs flapping on soft ground, forming snow angels.


I haven’t genuinely experienced the beauty of winter,

but I know it’s never too late.


That’s how I feel whenever I look at you.