to you iv

for someone else this time.

you read a poem about snow. your voice could be quiet if we weren't standing in a place that echoes, magnifies your words and makes them dozens of times louder; your voice overpowers the snow. your voice overpowers me. I look at the words on the page instead of at you; I look at the ink-black text on the white page. it's darker than snow but whiter than your cold skin, but even if your skin is cold, you are warm. your voice is warm, and you glow, every time I see you, with the light of a good and beautiful person.

you read about winter and snow and a jar of roses and I think as you turn the page that I have never met anyone as beautiful or as wonderful as you.