When it snows the sound is muffled. You no longer hear the bus galloping messily down the street, you no longer hear the men laughing from two doors down. Cigarette in hand with not a care in the world, tattoos painted intricately across their skin.
You can only hear that of your mind-that, of when you fall asleep is silenced by these noises. They create distraction however, when it snows the sound is muffled.
No longer can you hold back what is in your mind, everything starts to flow so freely with a elegant persona, it can tear you apart with the most delicate of movements. Twists and turns of regrets and lessons learned.
Until the snow stops, the torture is over. You no longer hear those silenced knives. You note that the men two doors down have moved to your garden wall and you hear that they too weren't okay to begin with. The buses tiptoe a little quieter than before, the world is not so muffled anymore.