The snow fell outside the open windows, and the rooms were cold.

You and I wandered back and forth between doorways, draped in bedsheets, wrapped thin around our forms and dragging out behind us. The hardwood floors were like an ocean, stretching from white wall to white wall, empty and clean and cold.

You were the first one to speak and you told me we would never leave.

The ceilings were high and full of rafters. You could hear the forest pressing in from beyond.

I spoke a dream of getting lost in that forest, running, with our sheets like capes or the robes of kings, flying behind us as we ran barefoot through the trees.

Our toes would turn blue, but we would be gone.

I never saw the drip of my blood on that snow, an arm torn, pushing through brambles; just the coldness of headlights as we pulled out past the gateposts, enveloped by dusk.

As night fell on country roads, the moon bright amidst the swirling snow, I sang lullabies for the king who slept in the drifts.

Josh,

Thank you for a different view of winter and snow. I like it.

Joe

Josh,

You are imbrued by beauty, so human and so male.

It shines through brilliantly in your writing.


Thank you for sharing,

Your brother,

was there safety by being there always?

or was the senerio dark

I put into my own context because

that is what I have to go by, and

maybe I am just reading into it too much

I like it, it is nice


I just want to stay safe.