covetous
looking through a window covered in frost
mesmerized by the lovely crystals that distort your form
outside, the cold air callously whips against the windowpane
as you laugh and make snow angels with my beloved
"Ghosts are famous for laughing. Saints laugh. Angels laugh. Laughter is the sound of Heaven, I think."

Cum catapultae proscriptae erunt tum soli proscript catapultas habebunt... When catapults are outlawed, only outlaws will have catapults.
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