I knew it was coming. The day before, I had put my home-grown vegetables to rest in a basket with fine-grained sand on the balcony. I had brought my winter clothes down from the attic and now they were everywhere, breathing new air. I had bought two pair of black winter boots, with thick rubber soles to put between me and the ground, while waiting for the bus in the mornings.
I knew, and still it hit me. Hard. Despite layer upon layer with fabric, I felt naked. The first night of frost. Very much like a relationship gone cold.
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