[It's snowing tonight.]
It's winter again, and she probably already knows it. But what she doesn't know is how I would pay too much attention to the way the thin gold chain necklace her mother made her wear dips between her protruding collarbones and the way she fiddles with the hem of her skirt because I know she hates the way her knees look. And with the winter comes everything else.
It's that time of year again when everything comes flooding back. It always happens the same way: it's the way the trees cast shadows that seem darker than they were before, and the cold and breathless sunlight that rekindle that frantic, grappling feeling that scratches at my throat and compresses my chest, creating one nervous heartbeat after another, released into the inside of my sweater and coat, going unheard.