snowflake.

by Meve R.

When the first snowflake falls, my fingertips rush to touch its sensitive, cool skin to recollect the last winter we spent. On the ice rink, we danced in our helpless movements, and the loss of grace had never been a problem. The sincerity of the shared laughter almost arrested the beat of my pulse, and the thousand ways we both cradled our cheeks with our wintry hands to whisper stories through our cold lips.

We spoke words foreign to our senses and at first, there were hallucinations, but we tore them apart. The night descended and we clothed our heated bodies with lust and crave. The whiff of the sweet vanilla hovered over the air and at last, we made it.

And these memories are the only source of strength I drain to stay on my feet, now that the only act I can do for you is to light up a candle to commemorate your death.


WORD COUNT: 157

Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.

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