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Just a drop of the tea burnt my tongue, so I will wait. I tried to feel if it was cool without getting hurt. The ceramic cup was still hot, so I should have known better. I was impatient.


    The world is fading. Colors that appeared not long ago are covered, hiding back under the blankets of white. For the common symbolism of the most reflective color, it covers the sky and turns it dark. It looks as if a painter made the mistake of putting highlights of white upon the tops of every surface. The places where shadows would lie are now the only contrast, for shades and tones are overwhelmed by snow.


    I want to describe the world, but I am prideful. Words that others have used are not for me. For simplicity sake, I may have said: “the snow was falling, the world turned white.” But I worry about when we will run out of new words for timeless things. I strive to leave no phrase unturned, and my ambition will leave no words for you.


    My tea has not yet cooled, and it is the perfect warmth to drink. A deep warmth to counter the white.


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