all we had were fragments

He remembered hazel and white light, snow falling on the streets and mittened hands in jacket pockets. He could not remember the feeling of snow on his skin but recalled the taste of peppermint and chocolate on chapped lips. He remembered the heat of shared blankets and bare skin but forgot snow cold wet clothes that peeled off of frosty skin and tumbled in the dryer on low. He thought back to unwavering moments of faith, to art in human forms and a paintbrush that swiped across a canvas and made the city come alive though there was only a brick wall for a view. Calum could have written novels in black ink on ivory winter skin of how the city made him feel, he could have written poems on the person that made him fall in love, but he had made himself forget who that was. And in the meantime, he was sure that person would not be the same after all these years.Calum goes back to the city that still feels like home. Back to the person that made him fall in love. Back to Boston. Back to Ashton.