Snowed in

Song for a cold night. House buried in snow. Hot cocoa with Bailey's in hand. Reading by the fire. Bliss.

Words that feel like secrets

Firecracker told me that "aletheia" means truth in Greek, but not truth as we know it. It is, instead, the deliberate uncovering of omissions. Discovering the things we hide. I love words that feel like secrets.

Sometimes, I imagine myself overgrown. Roots and veins crawling out of me, blooming from the top of my head and out of my ears and mouth, attaching to buildings and trees and the sun and the moon. I wonder if anyone notices as I walk around in a tangle of overgrown thoughts.

This feeling isn't snobbery or boredom like I used to think it was. There are just so many ideas and dreams that I've left unexplored, and they've learned to move on without me. They're still connected, even though they won't wait around for me anymore. I can tug them back down, like holding onto the string of a balloon that's trying to fly away, when I'm ready.

Cold & Snow

He grew up in Guadalajara, but he loves the cold. He loves ice skating in Fenway Park, watching the ball drop in Times Square, walking around the Nuit blanche a Montreal. He wraps himself in long, hand-knit scarves and drinks black coffee hot and steaming while his friends talk of cruises and travel agents. He thinks of the sun and he is warm. He thinks of the snow and he his home.