In the silence of snowfall, you realize how loud life usually is.
Footprints in fresh snow are a map of intentions, paused between longing and return.
Even the frozen lake breathes under its surface, dreaming of spring with every creak.

Caption sounds like it was written by moonlight.

Hope this was cathartic because it wasn’t helpful.

You answered like the hush had waited for you.

Now I feel like I need to rewrite the whole thing.

You wrote like someone who believes in presence.

You just turned a sad thought into a fun one. That’s talent.