number twenty

pretty patterns in the same old dream

its like that feeling when you were young
you would run as fast as you could through the wintry air until you swore it wasnt cold outside

the little biting frost that leaked in between your glove and jacket didnt even make you cold

you’d fall down on the icey grass and watch your breath float away from you

the smell of snow but none in sight
lights danced in the light breeze

but the cold hadnt beaten you yet and you laid there just watching your warm breath