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Thirst: A recurring, passing thought

I greeted you warmly with my hand against your cheek while we stood in the snow. If only I could have told you how excited I was, how my stomach was in knots and my heart attempted to climb its way out of my throat. The night was almost like day; the coldness so bright while bathing in the moon’s light. We stood quietly alone, secretly admiring one another and listening to the song of Winter’s loneliness. I could feel your presence vibrating like you were more than a passing thought. More than a lovely daydream. I resisted the urge to wrap my arms around you, to finally feel your warmth against me, to reach for your kiss. I resisted because no matter what my dream deluded, it wasn’t the real you. Even if the snow were to melt, if the moon traded places with the sun, it isn’t you. All that I was left with–that is, all that I would allow–was a simple, “Hi, Joe,” while my hand cupped your smile.


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