The snow falls in patterns and paint pictures of years gone by.
I reach out and try to catch each memory,
but my gloves have holes and they always slip away.
Time can never return me to how things used to be.

I'm searching for a feeling,
a familiar story being read, curled up infront of a fire.

The electric warmth pulsing through my veins,
an old heater and evenings spent in conversation.
Dusty white sidewalks, each footstep comes from steps already taken
Swimming in a cold sea of nostalgia and contemplation.

My mittens have worn out, as I try to hold on to everything
I need a brand new pair so I can grab on to a new feeling.
Its been months since I've been someplace that reminded me of home,
and I keep searching for moments worth stealing.