A collection of writing by Dominic Riccitello — intimate conversations, personal essays, and poetic reflections on relationships, loss, and self-discovery.

eventually the snow melts

the grace of footsteps
between moods of snow
icicles falling
with impossible delicacy

so quietly
it almost feels dangerous

i move toward this
like leaving an imprint
inside whatever we call this

echoes vibrating across fresh snow
creating footsteps beside my own
as though memory itself
still knows the way back

we speak across ice
like two minds
remembering each other
after time spent
learning different versions of silence

i break into thought

wondering if everything
could have unfolded
exactly the way we imagined

if timing had leaned
just a little differently

i light your lighter

the flame flickers against the wind
snow drifting through its glow
fire pushing back the cold
for only a moment

and somehow
that brief warmth
feels enough

i look into your eyes

wondering if you see this too

the stillness
the hesitation
the strange feeling
that the world has stopped moving
just long enough
for us to notice each other

we etch ourselves into this moment
like two people dancing with time
caught somewhere between touch and go
between certainty and vertigo

our thoughts circling one another
like strangers
who somehow know
far too much

next to every sentence
i could say right now
and every silence
i choose instead

time moves

it always does

but it lingers too

between here and there
between who we were
and who we become

between the version of time
that belonged to memory

and the one standing quietly beside us now

words by dominic riccitello

Leave a Reply

Discover more from Words by Dominic Riccitello | Writer & Modern Poet

Subscribe now to keep reading and get access to the full archive.

Continue reading