Snow is a pretty good trade-off for sadly foiled dinner plans, thick slushy flakes lightly trailing down cheeks reddened from the cold, tangling damply in eyelashes. And so for hours I wander through the empty, muffled streets, walking and walking, feeling at the same time both invisible and covered in photophores, pinpointable from space. Charmed and untouchable.
Later, pushing open the door to a warm apartment, prepared to sit in the dark for hours watching the snowfall. Realizing that it's not so much that everything will get better but that it already is.
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