Helsinki when it is the coldest

A child asks her mother where snow comes from.

She says it comes the sky, from the heaven.

I thought to myself she the sky is her limit.

You took my hand,

and before I knew I fell.

It was my first time ice-skating.

There are boundaries only if you create ones for yourself.

I stood up and fell again.

You laughed.

Kindly with a smile.

They have snow in the churches, too.

You are lying.

No, no, honestly.

You are playing with me.

No, I am completely serious. Go and see for yourself.

They really have snow in the churches? I asked with a great wonder.

And then I remembered...

...there were no boundaries for imagination either.

You loved snow

almost as much you loved me, you had said.

This is Helsinki, you said proudly.

This is where my home --

I wanted to interrupt you and say you live with me now --

was until I met you.

We have some buildings that are unfortunate enough to be unloved

for most their lives...

...and then we have others that only know unloved

as a word, not an emotion.

And you? I asked.

I am the fortunate enough, you replied

and kissed me in the snow.