This is a story about distance.

Snow falls almost infinitely. It stops at one point and then it starts again at another point. Is there ever a time where snow will cease to exist? Every snowflake is different from another; a different shape, a different pattern, a different form. As they brush right against each other, it becomes dense as the inches of powdered white piles on the ground . . . . infinitely.

It all started when I walked out on to my porch. I straightened out my arms and had the palms of my hands catch the falling snow. I thought to myself, ‘ah, she’s probably boarding the train right about now ’. I told her I’d go and see her off, but I stayed behind. I’d blame gravity. It held my feet down and I couldn’t go – wait a minute, that’s what I’ll tell her once she calls me on the phone. It was gravity. Maybe I shouldn’t even answer the phone. I could make up an excuse and tell her I was stuck in traffic and I couldn’t get there on time. ‘I’m sorry’.

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