You’re like the snow.
You surprised me with your arrival; you were unexpected. You spread simple happiness and excitement and comfort. I remember every fragile crystal you released into the numbing air, how you kissed me with your warm, passionate kisses on my white, shivering skin. I remember holding you in my palms, examining every frozen structure as you melted into my skin, and I melted into yours. You’re just snow, yet you envelope me in your irresistible comfort every time you fall, every time you stain me with the clarity you call the honesty of your heart.
You fall with a dialect that turns my blood into ice. I melt into each unmistakable vibration of your quiet whispers, your breath tickling my neck with an icy softness as you spread your happiness with the frost that is your mind. You’re frozen. You’re always the same. You’re controlled by the forces of the earth, by humanity which destroys you. She controls you. She makes you colder. You don’t fight, and so you’re frozen. And the worst thing is, I’m frozen with you. I want your whispers. I’m frozen with you.
I want to be. I want to trace my fingertips along the little raw imperfections of the snow. I want to feel the warmth that lurks within, the warmth that you gave me with our first embrace. So long ago. That’s why I want you; you remind me of the simple, fleeting moments that you froze into my reality. That’s why I hate you; you shattered those moments with the ignorance that you call your reality. But you’re just snow, you’re meant to be frozen – that’s your reality.
You’re the unexpected snow on a February morning; that’s your magic. The unexpected happiness and comfort and warmth and memories that you inflict with your frozen blue eyes. I drown in them again and again, like weak ice on the river of dreams. And that’s what I’ll remember.
Your warm frost.