March Snow.

I see snow in March, the sugar dusting everything until everything is covered in white glittering sheen, and it serves as a reminder of that night ten years ago.

That night brings me back here.

When I haven’t been here in a very long time.

It was the least lonely night of my life then, but one of the lonelist nights of my life when I look back. And when I look back, I can’t believe that so much time has passed, and so much has happened.

But March, snow, cold nights, seeing my own breath, vintage t-shirts, the knowing that something magical would happen on one of the last snowfalls of the season. It was coming, just like the impending storm. And then it came, and love collected like drifts of thick white wet snow, the kind that you can make snowballs with and pack with your mitt-clad hands while it collects in cold icy pompoms on the knitted wool.

It was that night that changed everything. I wouldn’t have what I have, I wouldn’t have lost the people I’ve lost in life, or re-gained and re-discovered the people I do have, and I wouldn’t have the love that truly does light a fire in my eyes, if not for that night, without him, who has become an innately-woven thread in the tapestry of my life. I hate you, and I love you. And mostly, I’m indifferent about you, now. Which I never thought possible.

The lesson here is, March snow brings magic, but that magic will turn you back into a pumpkin, and then theĀ  fairytale ends after midnight.

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