Arctic

It’s the weight from powder that makes me smile. The evergreens lightly spackled and the sharp chill that slaps, making faces ruby red.

The solstice where Apollo sleeps late, only to show up half baked.

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When future knocks on my door, it emphasizing the growth I have taken the staircase that never stop going. Forever growing and in either direction.

Beautiful.

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Time to increase down the aisle. Opening up to something else that I can't see, to feel the assault of love slap me in the face.

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