It’s in the water, the hum of the city.
It’s in the steps that you take, one by one, crunching snow underneath leather boots.
It’s in the sigh of air and the sharp exhale when cold fills your lungs and your hands lose their ability to open and close.
It’s in the heat of the moment, when you finally lock eyes across the room. It’s in the touch of hands that are frozen and eyes that are shut and now open.
It’s in the way that we move and zig and zag around each other while music pumps through speakers and we go out and smoke cigarettes so that we can stand closer and get a glimpse of how the other may taste.
It’s in old and the new and the barely just met and it’s magic, and it comes when the snow falls.
Whatever “it” is, is up to you.