We didn’t plan to stop walking.
The night was cold enough to bite,
snow swirling like a restless dream,
but something softened between us—
a warmth that didn’t belong to the season at all.
He reached for my hand
in the simplest, quietest way,
like he’d been waiting for the right moment
instead of the perfect one.
His fingers brushed mine
and the rest of the world fell away—
the lights,
the cold,
the past trying to cling to our heels.
Sometimes warmth finds you
exactly where you thought you’d frozen over.
And sometimes,
you let it.
Reading Trauma Mama: Velvet & Taboo 