It returned like splinter shards of glass.
Old sneakers ran through powdered snow. Wheezing breeze, misty breath. Soft carnival melodies drifting

past raspy limbs, falling leaves at twilight. The north wind—Boreas—glided through the creaking leaves,

his cape billowing in a storm. Moonlight shone bright, grains of snow swirling, gathering in clusters,

forming a nebulous shape. Warm fragrances of cinnamon and apple cider – the nostalgia of winters long

past. Rollercoasters with brittle, wooden frames, towering above the evergreen pines, stretching meters

upon meters into the clouds— absolute madness, one would think, to ride this monstrosity.
 

You, with flushed cheeks and gazes full of fascination, follow her. Her, with mischievous smiles and

twinkling eyes, calls out to you from the merry-go-round. Dulled lights flicker from the extravagant

structure— a mere shadow of its former glory. Her, with short, dark curls— ruffled by the winter winds,

dotted with snow— calls out to you with glee. Her, with flower trimmed sweater and faint patches—stories, she whispers to you, of those lost in time— grabs your hand, pulling you towards the

rollercoasters.
 

“Who are you?”
Her voice echoed through your fantasy.
A stranger from the past – a life-long farewell for only an ephemeral instant.​