Flakes
Fall silently
Onto the
Wet
Pavement
As they
Accumulate
The
Scene
Out the window
Lit
By the moonlight
Grows white
Each flake
Building
Upon the others
Inside
He
Stares
Out the window
Too tired to move
But
Too awake to
Sleep
So
He continues to stare
He pulls out
His journal
Tattered and worn
From abuse
Of everyday life
As he carefully
Opens the cover it
Tears slightly seemingly
Hanging on
By
A
String
He turns to a
Blank page
And
Just as he
Gets ready to
Start writing
The loud beeping
Noise startles
Him
Back to reality
If he
Wasn’t alone
The beeps from
The coffee maker
Would have surely awoken
The others
But
As it stands
He sits
Alone
He gets up
To grab
Himself
A
Cup
Of
Coffee and then
It’s back
To the topic
At
Hand
He touches
Pen to paper and
Next time
He looks up
There are
Three new inches of
Powder
Outside he
Must have been
Writing
For
Quite
Some time
His phone lights up
The excitement
In him
As he sees
It’s the
One
He dreams of
He grabs
The
Phone
Her voice is
Enough
For him
He happily
Listens
To her
Sleepily talk
Of her
Days
Outside
It snows but
Inside
His heart is warm
Just at
The thought
Of being
Able to
Talk
To
Her
