Snow is falling silent and deep this winter afternoon.
It never snowed in Orlando.
Claire was sprawled out on her bed. She lost track of how long she had been staring at the ceiling and turned her head to look out the window. She went from one blank white to another blank white. As usual.
The snow was so pretty. Like a poem or something. Maybe writing poems would help cheer her up a bit.
But she would not get off the bed. She could not will herself to. As usual.
Snow is falling silent and deep this winter afternoon…