I remember you as if it were yesterday. There was a snowstorm and I was seeing you off at a railway station, strangely completely alone at the platform. I was sitting on a bench, and the world was completely quiet, and I was waiting for you to arrive and to leave forever.

I have always loved falling snow. I was shielded from the wind in the far corner, and there snow was falling with a very low rustle, the one you hear if you concentrate well enough. The whole world was gone white: blizzard was covering the ground, trains were wrapped in a thin crust of ice, and to be honest I was white too. I didn’t feel cold; well, not entirely anyway. I felt despair though, but I knew that there was no point in asking you to stay. I came there to see your eyes wide in surprise when you saw that I came to tell you goodbye.

I didn’t tell you goodbye though; I couldn’t. I sat there and say your approaching figure: lean and tall and all black in your dramatic coat against the friggin snow; and there was your face, the one that could get you out of anything, and I felt just so small and useless and so so plain, just one of the characters you come across in your thrilling and adventurous life full of feelings and emotions and memories.

I remember your last look at me. You didn’t come up to me though, you were surprised, and honored me by doing a thing I would do instead of empty chitchat and words that would mean absolutely nothing 10 minutes later. You took a pack of cigarettes out and smoke our last one silently, looking in my eyes from the distance.

I have never seen you since. Oh well, you do exist you know, the shell of your former self, so wrapped up in your egomania that there is nothing left from that boy, neurotic and cruel but who could be suprisingly caring and affectionate. But for the rest, you are dead. But you know what? I don’t care. I’m even married now, and more than 10 years have passed, but I’m still mentally there, in that railway station, being carried away by snow. I have never loved anyone since.

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