Snow, poop, love

I was watching a movie with Graci an hour ago when I noticed the snow falling on the balcony, the warm light creeping out from above the stove in the kitchen. I was slowly swirling a glass of red wine in my hands, thinking about how I would write about all of this later. I would write about how this gray, boring day of studying turned out so...well, beautifully.

Understated beauty.
The best kind.

When the movie ended, Graci and I laid on the floor next to the sliding glass door and watched the snow fall. We laughed about the fact that the whole scene would have seemed a bit more poignant if it had been the first snow of the season, rather the umpteenth, and if the balcony hadn't earlier been peppered with the bird feces that were now staining the white flakes brown.

We talked about how much we were going to miss this--watching the snow fall and analyzing bird poop together--next year. There were a few silent tears. And then we each yelled at the other for carrying on with this sentimental shit, both of us claiming the other one started it.

We hugged and returned to watching the snow, laughed at the way the cat looks when she watches the snow, wondered aloud if all of that crap really came from one bird.

I can't remember when I've had a better February 14th.
Thank you for being my valentine, friend.