(no subject)
Look at the snow, its coming down outside my window. Swirling around and flying back up. The bright white under the bright sun looks warm and soft. Like the blankets and sheets I'm wrapped in, like the color of the skin below my neck. The fingers and toes of winter hang carelessly over the edge of the roof. Knobs like knuckles bulge and curve, bulge and curve… smoothing to sharp-pointed nails. Spring is on its way. I know it in the leaf-shaped burn on my belly. I know it in backward glances of the flakes as they fall down.