The Sunday Whirl

At midnight, a chill in my feverish night as a dream wavers on the edges of slumber, and the sight of you blurs. You are not there, but as the chain of love might stray, it never breaks. I rise to the window seeing the joyous drops of white as the snow begins. I might even hear a soft twinkle of bells in the distance initiating the beginning of a new year, always commencing this way. The vision then dissipates and the bells chime louder.

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Wordle 634