Maude didn't seem to notice Leon watching her, so he didn't look away, taking in her features one by one, intricately painting this moment in his mind so he never forgot this portrait of Maude Murray, standing in the snow, the porchlights making her eyes flicker like blue flames. "You should write a poem about this," Maude finally said, turning to Leon, melting snowflakes glittering on her hair like tiny diamonds. Her voice had the same effect that the sound of the snow did. It was gentle, unremarkable until you really listened for its soft melody. Leon smiled, turning away and tilting his head back with eyes closed, letting the snowflakes kiss his cheeks. This moment felt like poetry within itself.
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