"The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible." -Vladimir Nobokov

Friday, October 18, 2013

Letter #16

Dear October,
         Don’t you love the smell of warm air? I’m serious. Today I walked into the writing center and I could tell that they had switched over from air conditioning to heating. There’s just something about the smell of warm air on a cold day, that slightly toasted warmth that just surrounds you as you walk through the door and you can feel the cold seeping out of your fingers. It's that special kind of heat that takes the place of the cold, and you look down at your hands as though feeling them for the first time.


Song of the day: "Your Apartment" by Jenny Owen Youngs

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