I’m the kind of person who keeps trying to make anchors in life, and so I admit that I left that place with a heavy heart. This isn’t the first biting taste of such a disappointment. There were moments in time where I thought I’d have this thing and these people for a long time, through adventures and tribulations, but this thing and I, these people and I, we’ve always fallen to dust.

The proof is in how alone I am. Onwards I tread, still alone– Alone despite my efforts; alone despite not trying. In the end, it never seemed to matter…

Today marks the second day of snow. Days like this I think of him. In a way, he’s changed winter in my heart forever. In the falling snow I get flashes of a small mountain village full of happy people, quaint shops and boutiques against ski slopes, a mountain side of beautiful homes stacked radially, Christmas lights and cheer, and the stars. Glorious stars that could outdo anything the human mind can try and replicate, and that would leave the glittering tresses of a queen’s train green with envy.

And I remember his gentleness. I remember his kindness and the way he wondered if we could retire into the mountain villages towards the ends of our days.

I did not weep much when our story finally ended (though I wept endlessly as it did), because the happy feelings I carried of our time together overtook the bad, and I was simply glad I had this healthy part of him while it lasted.

Now I’ll never see falling snow the same again. I’ll never feel quite the same in the passing winters to come. I’ll never forget the mountain village and how he was there with me, and how happy we were once.

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