Dear Marisa,

November sits across from me at the table, a playful grin upon her lips, and a slight mischievous glint in her eyes. I can only twirl the rapidly cooling cup of tea between my hands and stare at the world outside the window. Icicles melt slowly filling the otherwise quiet air with the soft dripping sound of water against glass. November chuckles, but says nothing.
I wonder about time, and the rushing of the seasons, as we float unnoticed into the astral blue of the sky. The world is tinted white, and bright, and I find comfort in the solidly brown color of the wood table. I try to stay still. I try to be invisible. I try to feel time against my skin, to recognize it as it eats at my pores, to gently grab it between my fingers and swallow it whole. But I could never be still enough. Nothing could, nothing is. I cannot stop the slight movement of my chest as it rises and falls, or the turn of the world as it continues to float, or November licking her lips and laughing at my bemused face, while, in the briefest of moment, the melting icicles start to freeze again, and snow covers the land. I cannot stop time, and nobody knows better than November as she rises from her chair and walks out of the room, leaving me alone once more.

MJ xxx