CERESUltra

Music Nerd, Author, Yote!

  • She/they/it

30s/white/tired/coyote/&
Words are my favorite stim toy


CERESUltra
@CERESUltra

Vaguely dissociating to the sound of the train that's on the rails maybe a quarter mile from your house as the brakes sing harmonics that sound like a forbidden chorus of little steel angels. You never hear it in the summer, not with the weight of humid air and the roar of every air conditioner, but in the dense cold air of winter, when the house is too still for even the furnace to kick on, you hear them faintly, calling to a god of metal and motion just beyond mortal ken. Eventually, the lumbering low rumble of the cars passes, slowly ebbing out like a tide of low-grade madness, until you can hear the cars on the thruway again. Winter always does this. Winter is a bauble of glass that warps every moment just a little by the time you see the things on the other side of the glass. Winter is strange. Winter is weird. The train has only been gone a few minutes but feels like a distant memory.

They complain about the cold, which is fair. Cold hurts. But cold you can do something about. Part of you likes how it hurts. Plus, the heat curves weird, but in a different way.

Where snow falls, and the air is crisp, you take refuge.

Where snow falls, you are home.



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