Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
  May 2015 Kit Brimhall
For me, love has always been like sleepwalking. I never remember how I get there but there are always footprints behind me in the snow that appear to be the same size as my own. Somehow I ended up there again, with my face turned upward and the wind kissing it. Whoever compared love to warmth was lying. It is cold. It is the inch between solid ground and frozen lake that you can't see. It is the fog that clings to the tops of trees and softly whispers your name. It is the frost on your window that reminds you how easily things can break. The worst part of falling in love is falling out of love. The worst part of sleepwalking is waking up.
You woke up.

— The End —