I recall my layered fashion lying numbly upon the aftermath of a quite solemn blizzard. The air bitter cold to the lips, as the wind pierced through without regard to my secured fingertips. Deliberately, my eyes fluttered shut, a result of nostalgia, and utter reconnaissance of past circumstances. The thought of being viewed from an outside angle, outside of my mind, at least, never occurred to me, so, there I lay, overcome with guilt and pleasure and pure child-like adornment. I strayed away, ran away. Footsteps appeared through the snow, in a running-like pattern, without a specific human form to have left them.