I remember you through freezing fog; the gentle snowstorm that kisses the trees and the fields. Pieces of you in fractal ice, melting on my skin, landing but for a moment before trickling and dissipating out of my grasp.

It is long ago; before electricity. Before the complications of social media and the poisonous glamour of modern potential.

I am standing at the edge of a village, my feet near the path but no longer on it, looking towards the sleeping town. It is late evening. The tinge of winter on the air -- a mixture of crisp, cold darkness, the frozen lake nearby, and woodsmoke suffusing the cool, swirling breeze.

Snow is silently falling from the sky, like little stars that tingle and dance gracefully as they fall toward the earth.

I am a winter sprite, impervious to the cold. In autumn you left behind a whisper inside me, memories misplaced in hidden spaces; a ghost in my house.

In my heart I hold the secret to thaw the winter within yours. Only you decide how profound that freeze will be. Together we will bring the sun, and plan for the thaw. Our time on earth will blossom into spring together; breathing the mountain air, swimming wildly in the sea, and living a life well lived. Simply. Away from complications of modernity.

And I remember you not. Between every moment and always.