Dear Eric,
Was there any credibility to what we had? All the memories of our happy days are few and fleeting. Maybe if I attempt to recall them now, I might remember why I write these letters in the first place.
The winter air whirled around me. Flurries gathered in my hair, dissolving and leaving glittering droplets throughout the locks. I clutched the lapels of my pea coat, hugging it towards me, attempting to draw in the warmth. A blanket of white covered the entire landscape, obscuring the urban environment with a dream-like quality that softened everything, a winter pastoral, with me as its star. Salt ground under my boots, fleeing forward as I drug my feet, slow steps on the icy pavement out of caution and observation. I didn't want to drag my vision from the world around me to focus on my footfalls. I should have.
My ass hit the sidewalk with a slick thud, the snow seeping into my jeans as the pain radiated throughout my thighs and along my spine. My perfect winter landscape had become upturned in a mere second and I frowned at my misfortune. Eager to write off the whole day as another calamity, I attempted to rise. That's when a gloved palm extended itself in front of me. The black leather belonged to you. "Damn, I hate it when that happens," you laughed, helping me to my feet, dusting the fragments of salt and grime from my back.
"Yeah, a practical winter wonderland out here, isn't it?" I mused sarcastically. It was another moment or so before I noticed who had been so kind to help me up. Your eyes were this murky green, the kind you might find on algae that washed ashore. Your body moved close to mine, standing beside me as though we had known each other for years, a friendly familiarity that made me want to stay here, on the sidewalk, talking with you for hours. It was perfect. You were my savior, my rescuer, and you played that role so well.
Couldn't that moment be out of a romantic comedy? The two main characters meet and they fall in love, finally locking lips as the snow falls around them. Pan out as the piano tickles some tear jerking soundtrack. But that's what happened, minus the pathetic music. We met, we kissed, we fell in love in the few short moments that we had known one another.
Every single time it snows, I cannot help but think of you. I want you to save me from my sad reality, I want you to remedy my misery with your presence. Would it be so terrible to take one last wintry walk? Would it be so terrible to hold my hand one last time?
Was there any credibility to what we had? All the memories of our happy days are few and fleeting. Maybe if I attempt to recall them now, I might remember why I write these letters in the first place.
The winter air whirled around me. Flurries gathered in my hair, dissolving and leaving glittering droplets throughout the locks. I clutched the lapels of my pea coat, hugging it towards me, attempting to draw in the warmth. A blanket of white covered the entire landscape, obscuring the urban environment with a dream-like quality that softened everything, a winter pastoral, with me as its star. Salt ground under my boots, fleeing forward as I drug my feet, slow steps on the icy pavement out of caution and observation. I didn't want to drag my vision from the world around me to focus on my footfalls. I should have.
My ass hit the sidewalk with a slick thud, the snow seeping into my jeans as the pain radiated throughout my thighs and along my spine. My perfect winter landscape had become upturned in a mere second and I frowned at my misfortune. Eager to write off the whole day as another calamity, I attempted to rise. That's when a gloved palm extended itself in front of me. The black leather belonged to you. "Damn, I hate it when that happens," you laughed, helping me to my feet, dusting the fragments of salt and grime from my back.
"Yeah, a practical winter wonderland out here, isn't it?" I mused sarcastically. It was another moment or so before I noticed who had been so kind to help me up. Your eyes were this murky green, the kind you might find on algae that washed ashore. Your body moved close to mine, standing beside me as though we had known each other for years, a friendly familiarity that made me want to stay here, on the sidewalk, talking with you for hours. It was perfect. You were my savior, my rescuer, and you played that role so well.
Couldn't that moment be out of a romantic comedy? The two main characters meet and they fall in love, finally locking lips as the snow falls around them. Pan out as the piano tickles some tear jerking soundtrack. But that's what happened, minus the pathetic music. We met, we kissed, we fell in love in the few short moments that we had known one another.
Every single time it snows, I cannot help but think of you. I want you to save me from my sad reality, I want you to remedy my misery with your presence. Would it be so terrible to take one last wintry walk? Would it be so terrible to hold my hand one last time?
