i've never known a snowier winter than this, the one i have carried you inside, and it's early january, and only barely. we've moons and miles yet to go.
i tell your papa that you make the snow and he smiles with his whole body and i honest to goodness believe that you do. that's how i see you: blowing kisses of snowflakes down to us, straight from the hand of god. you are my winter, all of my winters, from here on out.