Winter

He reminded her of snow; pale, always cold to the touch, and temporary. Ever so temporary. He blew into her life whenever it got cold and melted out of it when it got too hot.

He wasn't the quiet light snowfall in the middle of the night though; he was a full on flurry of wind and ice. He wasn't the pristine white covering on the lawn everyone dreamed of; he was the dirty brown slush on the side of the ploughed motorway.

Marco wasn't the perfect romanticised image of winter, but he was winter nonetheless.