My cheeks are red and firey although almost painfully numb, as are my hands and nose. Dead shards of snow form clusters of ice on my shoulders and frozen dust stick to my face while I laugh carelessly. Another snowball hits me and depsite my being mostly frozen, inside my ribcage bloom flowers, fresh and new, defying the curiously ruthless February wind. They smell of closeness, love, success and friendship, of euphoria and all that fills me up each day. My cheeks are red and sting slightly, and yet my ribcage, thawed and warm, grows flowers deep beneath the snow.