thirteen november
one : twenty-six a.m.

i told him i was wishing for snow. and his pretty words..

"i would love to meet you in the city and walk to fairmount, crunching snow under our feet. flakes will sit white and pretentious in my hair, and you'll have a scarf and your green coat, and we'll be laughing, mostly just to see our own breath, only partly because of how good it feels to see snow in the city and understand how young that cold weather can make you feel. and we can shake our heads and maybe warm our noses over expensive coffee at some trendy spot, and sit on a bench, and complain about how we need to quit smoking, secretly singing cat power songs to ourselves in our heads, thinking about how thin the skin of our hands can be."