it used to be piggybacks through snowdrifts. bitter chills invaded my warm exterior, with snow gathering on my eyelashes. it didn't matter because i had the warmth of a shoulder to burrow in, provided by my grandfather. it used to be hot chocolates with twice the milk, triple the marshmallows, with candy canes for homey comfort. it was curling into a ball under layers of blankets upon returning damp and cold after snowball fights in the park. it was about discovery, playfulness, and the cycle of warm-again-cold-again. now it's about traffic reports, weather predictions, and the brake lights ahead of you. it's about scarves for fashion, not function, and never feeling quite warm enough. it's about trudging through cold powder and leaving it on the ground. now it's just cold and lost on this colder heart, one that rarely has a shoulder to warm against. one that grew out of one-piece snowsuits and into wool peacoats, grew out of the magic of santa, and into the working class that provides the gifts. it's about cynicism, exhaustion, and the jealousy towards the kids that still get to be.


-new pictures.