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Posted in Journal on January 23, 2010 by writemywrong

I really love the winters cold, and don’t understand those that don’t.
Nothing cools me, nothing wakes me, like an open window in January.

Well, except for the beautiful girl lying next to me tonight. She sleeps like snow falls. She smells like flakes’ scent: nothing and pure and home and embrace.

I love the winter.
January, take me home.