The snow outside my small window had just started to fall again coating the frozen grass with a fresh white blanket that only encouraged me to stay snuggled up in my bed under layers of fuzzy fabric. The sounds outside that condensation covered window started to fade as my alarm clock ticked to another early hour of the morning. I should be sleeping but instead I'm trying to study notecards for my anatomy exam in-between checking my phone hoping you responded to that message I sent a thirty seconds ago. One minute, two, four minutes later I’m struggling to remember where a protein is made because I can’t drag my eyes away from the same, black screen that’s been staring back at me since I sent that message five and a half minutes ago. I give up on memorizing the functions of an organelle and turn out my light trying not to focus in on how your hair would look with little white flakes speckling it. Eight minutes after I was picturing the outline of your face, imagining the perfection in every curve and line I’m comforted by the faint scent of cigarettes on your skin and your hands grabbing my hips as your body pushes against mine. I forget all about the snow coming in through the opened window beside where we were whispering back and forth in the dark room only illuminated by a random car passing by the building. Breathing in deeply attempting to flood my brain with what I was feeling, kissing the nicotine seeping up through your skin, praying it circulates through my blood and holds me over until the next time the snow comes down and you blanket me like the white powder covering the frozen ground outside.