The snow... how I love the snow. The city bundled up in it's blanket, a city that has forgotten the warmth. The snow, and how it holds memories and buried promises. I remember running through the town, leaving my footprints as I went. I also remember meeting a boy, in this city of falling snow. He had a kind smile, a hyperactive nature. We both would run through the town, leaving our footprints as we went. A boy who would be forever placed on a pedestal, no longer within my reach.

Our first memories wonder effortlessly through our (un)consciousness until one finally sticks. It becomes real, it becomes permanent, it becomes OUR MEMORY. Some things simply aren't worthy of being real or occupying a place in our memory. The trick is knowing the difference. You must hold onto what's good with all your might, and push away what isn't like your life depends on it. Because somehow it does.

You left with the key to my heart, can I have it back please?