We danced down the hill, our boards gliding across the snow-covered hill as we went away and back to each other. My toes curled in and away from the side of the mountain, as I gratefully left and returned to his gentle hands, the awe of the moment not escaping me and embracing the feeling of temporary freedom. Although my legs burned with the fire of slowing my descent down, my soul sang eagerly for the sensation of gliding, for a way to continue the beautiful dance we'd briefly shared.

Something about me and the snow... the way I'd fall sick with the heat of my hometown, the way I feel free out here in the cold. The way my eyes light up with every drop in temperature. A deep love for the cozy in the cold, the thick jackets and snowy walks in the forest. The way it felt like pure magic the day the snow first fell.