Just Like a First-Snow Sunday

When it comes to liking you, I don't know when I'll be able to explain it clearly. You know we're friends, the best of friends forever. If you insist on making me spell it out, I'll tell you: liking you is like a Sunday after the first snow, sunlight shining on blooming camellias as you pass by my side. We whisper to each other, smiling as we watch the golden birds hop about on the branches. When we're tired, we walk home hand in hand over the thin layer of snow on the ground.