Ficlets

Upon Pondering our First Real Meeting

I wake up to the sound of November snow
And as I stand by the window,
Watching the snow wash everything white
I wonder how it came to be that
We are so hopelessly entangled

I met you in sandals,
And somehow we crossed over the lines
Defined by sneakers and high heels, and finally snow boots
And I stand now by the window in slippers,
Wondering why snow makes a sound

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