Flakes of white fall thru the trees and onto the road, catching on our clothes and hair. It's a silent fall and it's weird how it makes everything else seem quiet, too, like it's trying to tell you a secret, a terrible, terrible secret.
The falling flakes were random and without purpose; the snow was drunker than she was.
Faded smiles oft linger in the face, While grief's first flakes fall silent on the heart!
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