It was the night of the first snow. She slipped her hands into the sides of her yellow fleece shorts, smiling fleetingly at the warmth seeping into her fingers. She had never understood why he did it before.
He couldn't get the cold out of his burning fingertips. His flannel pyjamas were a terrible replacement.
He couldn't get the cold out of his burning fingertips. His flannel pyjamas were a terrible replacement.
1 comment:
remembrance??
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