you know how this goes, of course you do.
you forget your mittens in the hallway
on the shelf — and head out into the city.
long day. wind. and by evening —
the first snow settling on the benches
making itself a bed, a blanket.
you blow on them, you rub them,
tuck them into pockets and back out,
press them together, palm to palm —
but under the snow, under your fingers,
still the trembling.
tram stop. waiting.
something sad — like tea, like tea,
something bitter, dark, and strange —
you keep tucking it inside your collar,
stirring, stirring, stirring.
the damp gets into your soul.
you can't save yourself — breathing
into your wet scarf, walking, walking, walking
down a white snow-covered street —
the smell of life. a crowd. a door.
a coffee shop.
and someone hands you a warm cup.
and you press yourself against it, all of you —
goosebumps.
i get that from you.
exactly.
the same.
Mar 18
Mar 18, 2026 at 12:51 AM UTC
you know how this goes, of course you do.
you forget your mittens in the hallway
on the shelf — and head out into the city.
long day. wind. and by evening —
the first snow settling on the benches
making itself a bed, a blanket.
you blow on them, you rub them,
tuck them into pockets and back out,
press them together, palm to palm —
but under the snow, under your fingers,
still the trembling.
tram stop. waiting.
something sad — like tea, like tea,
something bitter, dark, and strange —
you keep tucking it inside your collar,
stirring, stirring, stirring.
the damp gets into your soul.
you can't save yourself — breathing
into your wet scarf, walking, walking, walking
down a white snow-covered street —
the smell of life. a crowd. a door.
a coffee shop.
and someone hands you a warm cup.
and you press yourself against it, all of you —
goosebumps.
i get that from you.
exactly.
the same.