Fall

She stared through the window. She saw the first fall of winter snow. She saw how the white circles dampened the cold cement. 

"Not my season," she said. She felt his hand draped over her shoulders. She knew that it was his season, he loved winter. So cold, so white. 

"Why not? Ah, winter," he replied. Of course he knew. She knew. They both knew why winter was not her season. Winter reminded her of how foolish life can get. It reminded her that there was suffering in every beauty. 

"It's the realest season," he said. She smiled. Realest. She turned around and stared at nothing but oblivion.