The crust of day-old snow gives way under the sole of my boot, crunching and crinkling like red leaves in autumn. I'm walking from my car (parked almost the whole block away, there's never any fucking parking available on this street, your neighbors must throw parties all the damn time) to your house, and I'm reciting under my breath the words I will say to try and get you back. They will work. I know they will work. You love snow, and yesterday was the first real blizzard of the year, so I predict that you'll be in a forgiving mood. You're probably making yourself tea right now. When you open the door to my face, you'll see that my nose and cheeks are red, you'll see my breath brittle in the air, you'll see that the jacket I'm wearing is practically threadbare, and your impulse will be to invite me in out of the cold. I will have won half the battle. I mumble the words I will say again and again, and they sound more persuasive each time.
Bon Iver- Blood Bank
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