Sunny in the Fog

I don't think there's anything special about being alive. Like ice sinking in the depths of winter, it doesn't long to be held tightly, nor does it mind being forgotten. Until he showed up. Like the one that only belongs to me among the stars in the sky, cold and warm, small and bright. It felt like something was moving under the ice, so lightly and slowly that one couldn't tell whether it was a crack or a sprout.