Flowings of Your Everlasting Taffyman

There is a certain comfort in walking, in walking in freezing rain, in feeling the wind pass through your clothes, in the dampness on your head, in the blurryness of wet glasses that block the view, in drops of ice that melt down your face, a certain invigoration, a certain adventurousness, a certain calling of old, a handful of memories, a handful of desires that claim you're not having a good time, a certain set of lies that make the world seem magical, blissful, comforting, a certain amount of truth.