I breathe in this wintery mix, the snowflakes of your absence. Feeling a power in the murmurations of our second snowstorm, the body of the toiling wind. Trailing off every edge visible from the porch, the snow becomes you. I take you in truly, as you are. SOPHIE had always existed in the periphery of this apocalypse, standing as a perfect embodiment of the deconstruction and sexy hyperpop that was uncovered a year ago. But I never spoke directly to or of her per se. Sitting in her loss, and the ruin of winter around me, I place this feeling outside. In the freezing cold. This apocalypse in the tundra and the bleak. Unprepared, too cold, a lighter that won’t strike, the flame refusing to catch. Your voice and your shattering in this snow. I become immaterial in this January firefight of frost. Our ancestors live with us, their knowledge and selfhood become liquid. You come to me in this wind and water. Disseminating your canon and magic through each flake, filling out the shape of this midnight tempest. A pop of pain and fear; I place this vulnerability outside, in the freezing cold. Thank you for the validation, for the spells you cast. What you were making, the spectrum of it. For helping me out.