October sixth was my birthday – it was also the day of the first snow. The moment we woke up me and Milo ran out in rubber boots and underwear to dance and make birthday breakfast snow cones. It was so cold. Winter bone grey windy soup. For the whole day I never warmed up. Even though, I had the best warming medicine: the spiciest ginger tea from the Alley Cat and a big baked potatoes with chives from Carl’s hidden diner. The cold must have been coming from inside my insides.

 

For my birthday I felt like I was waiting, waiting for I don’t even know what, but waiting makes me feel tiny. Sometimes tiny can feel good – secret – like you might slip through the cracks into broken hearts or undiscovered lands. But this was the sad sort of tiny, the kind where you feel like giant feet will surely trample over you and your voice will be to small to ask for help. 

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~ by warpaintandwandering on October 11, 2012.

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