Lonely Empathy

There’s a stone bench perfectly placed in the snowy court yard, and it’s there that I find you sitting. My bluest friend and daughter that even if I never sire I know I could be proud of; I sit next to you on the bare bench curiously, so in spite of the falling snow. Neither of us speak much and so why would our exchanges be any different? Sitting there with you and the quite snow, so loud and thick in the air, I don’t feel happy, purposeful, or special by in any convention, but this looks like a place that makes sense to us both when so many other things are irregular.

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