You were my warmth in the winter. As I stood there with the sky laying snowflakes to rest on my face, I thought of getting home to you, of the soft taste of camomile on your lips as you kissed me. I was no longer falling in love, you see. I was quite comfortably settled there, and had been for some time. And that was the difference, the part I’d never realised. That spark of love, the excitement which seems to drift just out of grasp, it simply evolves, moves forward. It is not lost but rather more content, more settled. It had become a part of me without me ever realising.