Love & Lust: Snow

Sometimes you’ll see me standing outside, with my head tipped back towards the sky, imploring the clouds to dip down close enough to brush against my face, the same way your words touched my heart. I still tell myself that if I believe hard enough, snowflakes will crystallize on my tongue like candies to remind me of the day we last saw each other.

Not even a hailstorm of ice could make me forget the first snow we shared. I can still see your silhouette against the darkening sky, and your head nod ever so slightly as you turn away. Along with that winter’s whirling wind, you were gone. You left me with nothing but sighs and broken goodbyes.

I miss you.

They say there are over fifty words for snow, but I can’t even bring myself to say three certain words. Expressing myself has never been easy. Even if I did get the opportunity, I confess I may not have the courage to speak or you may not have the desire to hear. But I do know that before the sky turned grey and the wind picked up, I was the luckiest girl in the world.

Because every time when the snow starts to fly ... I remember. I remember all the quips and laughs we’ve shared together, the comfortable embrace of the snowbanks of our thoughts, shielded from the rest of the world.

Fairytales tell us that snow is iridescent isinglass, or created by sifting powdered sugar. Untrammeled, untouched. Fairytales forget about the murky, muddy footprints tracking through the fury and the flurry. The charcoal soot smeared in places we cannot see. The blizzards deep in our hearts that we desperately try to fend off with crackling fires and trivial fireside chats.

On the darkest days, when the swirling avalanche blew out the flame, you reminded me that the clouds would eventually open up and release a ray of sunshine. You offered no pity or apologies, and for that I couldn’t be more grateful.

I can’t lie to you, either. I can’t tell you that life’s going to be easy, but I mean it when I say that you will be successful. That everything will work out somehow, or become inconsequential, steeped in time. That all snowstorms must end. And wherever you go in life, however far you go, even if I’m not there, I will be happy for you. And proud like no other. Truly, madly, deeply. Honestly.

All snow melts. But even on the bleakest winter night, you’ll find me looking upwards for the snowflakes that remind me of everything we’ve shared. Even though they’re fleeting, even though they’ll melt into tiny liquid gems in the palm of my hand the moment I blink, it’s perfect for a moment.

And a moment is enough for me.