Snow

Ah, finally a place with no readers related to me. My other blog got nowhere, and now I'm counting on failure for this one. I just want to lay down my stuff in words.

He hates the cold. He hates being alone. He hates deep waters. He hates people. He hates this city. He hates that whenever he opens his mouth to talk about what he feels, he just causes awkward moments.
He likes snow. Snow is beautiful. White, soft... snowy.
He likes the idea of seeing a snow flake melt on her skin, and then kiss it off.
He wore the wrong shoes. He wanted to make an impression. But it never works. She already has all the impressions she's ever gonna have. Mostly friend-zoned. But he wanted to make it. It sucks when you run out of your house when it's -13 degrees outside with your hair dripping wet to the bank. He ran just to get money out of my bank account to be able to get on two buses, get to another city, and see her for a few hours.
About 3 hours, to be exact.
He missed having dinner with her. His hair was frozen, his neck was cold, his hands were shaking his skin was hurting, and there was snow in his shoes. The wrong shoes.
Oh, Mau, when will you learn.
He was late. But something warm should fix it as soon as he got there. Starbucks coffee. Venti latte. No sugar in it, please. It took hours to finish it.
She looked beautiful. Blue eyes, brown hair. Well, according to her. To me, her hair seems dark blond. Brownish blond. He loves it. He loves her eyes. Her face. Every inch of her skin.
Imagine a block of ice in a very dry cold. A snowflake will approach it hoping that the ice will kiss it and hold it close. And eventually they will be together.
But it doesn't happen.
The snowflake slides off the ice, never to be seen again. Eventually it will land on some muddy hole and stay there. Poor white snowflake.
Anyways, dinner he had. Money for the night he had. Not so much. After all, being a student is expensive, and work has been giving shitty hours. But she's worth everything.
He fought with his parents. He knows she's the most beautiful thing that's ever happened to him. He knows that her fingers fit perfectly in between his.
They walked around. He wanted to hold her hand, and did it for as long as he could.
Oh, her pretty cold small hands...
I'm taking too long with this. They walked around, he could only think of how much he loved her, and how bad the fight with his family was.
After a while they headed out, and they split, for they lived in two different directions.
Oh, snow... the wrong shoes, the wrong clothing, all to make an impression. The things I've done for you.
I've ran through packed fast streets in the rain. I've ran in snow. I've ran... in snow. I've ran.
Snow.
Cold snow. Cold air. Hunger, thirst, pain from the cold. It'll wear off as soon as your body warms up.
And so, he ran. The wrong shoes: Perfect for running. Bad for snow. His coat: perfect for making an impression. Bad for running.
And so, he ran. Stopped, gasped for air, and ran again. And thought of her.
And he kept running. 9:57. Train leaves at 10:07.
He's cold. He's far. Pick up the pace.
He's close. He's cold. The train is in sight. 10:05.
He's close. Train is in sight. Leaving. 10:08.
He's cold and thirsty. His clothes are sweaty. Sweat becomes cold.
The wrong shoes, the wrong clothes... the wrong fight, the wrong run.
I would love to kiss you good night.
He wants the warmth of her body. Right now he's colder than she was.
He wants water. But no.
Oh, snow. It tasted like accumulated pollution since the last snowfall.
One hour. And then on your way home.
Home, sweet home. He feels home when he's with her. He wants her to love him. He wants to love and feel loved. He wants the block of ice to be humid so the snowflake can stick to it and eventually freeze together.