is the changing of the wind a miracle at all?

today morning, i pressed my nose to the window, and shivered. goosebumps erupting on my skin, i let the gray fog permeate into my senses and closed my eyes. remembering the days when it was the norm. when england offered me these days as a gift. wonderful, because there was no rain, or snow, or the wretched combination of the two.

those days, curls were tucked into turquoise wool hats. toes were wiggled in striped socks and shoved into scuffed black boots. scarves and sweaters were stuffed into oversize handbags. cigarettes were rolled by shaking hands at bus stops, some psycho-babble logic that convinced us that smoking protected us from the cold. those days, we paid good money for coffee, for tikka wraps, for cheesy fries, just to bring color to our skin.

those days, the cold woke us up. made us feel alive. made us brave enough to sit by the river and glug cider till alcohol flowed through our blood, warming us from the inside out.

today, with fog and iciness making my toes curl, i run down to you. in flip flops and a flimsy skirt. we press cold drinks on our warm skin making each other yell. we sprawl on couches sharing icy chocolate shakes and cigarettes, pressing our bare toes against each other. i wear a jacket because the cold dictates that i should. i shrug it off because my skin isnt cold. my heart isnt either. i shrug it back on. you tell me to take it off.

does weather even matter anymore? has immunity to the elements crept into my skin without me noticing?

or is it just you? can even the eccentricities of mother nature, and the changing of the wind be rendered insignificant, simply because today you wanted to see me?



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