We waltzed Lisztlessly.
Either I've been missing something or nothing has been going on.
Teeth of winter, sinking into my flesh, my own clacking against each other like knitting needles, and I wish they'd knit a heavy shawl around my shoulders before widening into a yawn. Why do I always yawn when I'm cold?
Like a diaphanous nightgown, language both hides and reveals.
Time is the mother and mugger of us all.
A pronoun, too, will aptly reflect the number of its antecedent: "they" does not refer to one person, no matter how many personalities she or he has, or how eager you are to skirt the gender frays.