Our roof tops hold up all the snow that falls, its purpose is to hide us. We, lonely (but content) indoors on beds, buried in quilts, keep the kettle on. I vow: never coming out, at least, not without you. Maybe we hide here all winter, safe. Understanding we can’t do it alone. But still, not every house where smoke rises from chimney is occupied, not every place where people live is a home, but still we build them in hopes.

Our roof tops hold up all the snow that falls, its purpose is to hide us. We, lonely (but content) indoors on beds, buried in quilts, keep the kettle on. I vow: never coming out, at least, not without you. Maybe we hide here all winter, safe. Understanding we can’t do it alone. But still, not every house where smoke rises from chimney is occupied, not every place where people live is a home, but still we build them in hopes.

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