For a brief moment, I look into those eyes and I feel as if I’m not really dead inside, as if there’s more to this cold, unyielding, solitary existence, that love isn’t simply a fairytale, and that it’s all still possible if we simply believe it to be so.

(The next few weeks on here will basically be self-parody instagram photos and uncomfortable prose about Henrik Lundqvist, in an effort to weed out my real fans from my fake fans, or something.)

Our goalie is probably better than your goalie. And looks pretty sharp in a fedora.