Frosty the Snowman

He was not that type of guy who would willingly dive into anything serious. Although his heart would secretly yearn for commitment and safe affection, he could not find it in himself to put his restlessness at ease. He had tried, believe me, but all had failed. Some he would have wounded, some he would have neglected, some he would have forgotten, and some he would have vexed, though not her. Despite his rebellious ego, his besieged pride, he could not let go of her. It was a paradox; like a maze he could not escape from. There were moments he felt as if he was wriggling and kicking against strangling hands wrapped around his throat, yet the same feeling gave him excitement, ecstasy. She was as menacing, frustrating, displeasing, puzzling and perplexing as a woman could possibly ever be, yet the same she was exhilarating, invigorating and addictive. She felt like a cool, misty breath taken on a frosty morning, with a sky painted icy azure. Your lips would tingle, your hands would prickle and your nose would turn red, and even when the cold would freeze you through to the bones, a passion of life would capture you, as if you have not lived ever before.

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