When do parts of my body, particularly my hands and feet, decide to go frustratingly cold when the remainder of me chooses to stay comfortably warm? No matter how many socks I wear or how long I sit on my hands, they stay that way until they feel it necessary to jump on the bandwagon with the rest of me.

I find it’s the same in certain relationships. Where my head and my heart are jumping between frozen and hot like girls in pig-tails playing an innocent game of hop-scotch

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