White

The sky is painted red as hundreds of overjoyed college freshmen throw snowballs in washington square park.

Every so often, the fun is disrupted and the honks go off, the sirens ring, and the quiet white blanket of snow is interrupted by the usual traffic of the bustling city. (and then i recall I am not home, and even the snowiest of nights are loud here)

"the snowball fight of the year"---the statuses are already taking over my facebook mini feed, my memory, this moment.
The joyous yells.
I'm not out there (although part of me wishes i was)
I cant help but think, "when else will I be able to run rampant at 2 AM frolicking in fresh snow under the glorious arch?"
But then I think about my bed,
how cozy I am,
my hair,
how straight it is, [i know it sounds silly, but it took me an hour to do]
the 11:00 AM class I have tomorrow,
how fast asleep some of my [more sane] nyu companions are,
and decide,
it's best to stay in
with the promise that if we have a snow day tomorrow,
I'll make sure to frolic and love while i still can.
I've given up on hope--
the backwards pajamas and ice cubes down the toilet tactics
just don't seem to do it for me these days.
My alarm will go off,
and I will get up and go.
study graphs and charts I can't make sense of,
speak of Plato and Aristotle,
until everything has melted away.