Snowbound

“Next time…” you begin, with a hint of a butterfly’s wings fluttering in your laugh. There’s a warm twinkle in your eyes that invites me into more of these future this-and-that’s with you. Your hug as we say goodbye is so tender it would feel far too short, even if it lasted all winter.

When a week passes, I fall into the cave in my head, wondering if I said something wrong. I lie in my empty bed, pressing repeat on the song that fuels my tumble into the nothingness of my mind. Hours slip by, blurred and lost, and I am left no wiser.

But the next time we meet, that thought falls away with the same motion you use to brush your hair behind your ear.

But I know it will change—if not heartbreakingly quick, then torturously slow. Which might be worse, in any case. Soon, you’ll start looking at me with accusatory eyes, probing when I act out my quirks or laugh at small things because the humor has already flashed through my mind.

You used to pull me close on winter nights, and my back would clamp up, but I’d manage. Your head would fall onto my shoulder, and our laughter would fog up the small window in my room. We’d talk about anything—gossip, silly, improbable things. Bound together by the chill outside, we were alone.

When I lose myself in the perfectly imperfect constellations of freckles on your skin, I feel a sudden disconnect as you scowl at the floor. It’s like touching an empty pan you couldn’t tell was hot or not—only this time, it definitely was.

Something has changed.

When the cold outside loosens its blizzardous grasp, you find it in you to replace that chill—or maybe to chase it away altogether. I’m not sure which.

We walk together, and the Chelsea boots I got you last autumn carve up the last patches of snow. Maybe it’s just my imagination, but you smile at something I say, with the same flicker you had when you used to talk warmly about “tomorrows.”

You’re warming yourself up to an idea. One where it won’t hurt to let me into your world again, because this time it will be the last. And in all your diplomacy, you offer friendship.