Snow

Palm flat against the cool wood of the doorframe, I stare out into the street. I tip my head slowly and gently until it too rests against the doorframe. It never snows here, it's been eight years since it last snowed and eight years ago, it was more of a hyped up version of soft hail than snow. But now it's really snowing. The grass is white with frozen dew and the freshly fallen snowflakes. Small little balls of white frozen water. There's a lot of hype over this stuff. A miracle, some claim, though, really, how is THIS a miracle? Simply, the weather dropped down to a cold enough temperature for our little town to sustain snow, instead of it melting mid-fall like it has all the winters before.

But looking out, I don't care how much of it is hype, how much of it is 'miracle', how much is science, I don't care about anything because that sparkle in his magnificent blue eyes is more than I could've asked for in a life time. No, I don't consider it a miracle it's snowing, hell, for all I know it's global warming! All I care about is that glorious sparkle, that happiness he's never quite had before. That is what I care about.

I watch him as he walks across the street to me, the bright white clouds consuming the sky creating a dramatic lighting, hitting him as if a radiant light from above, serving its only purpose: to make him look dramatic.

White snowflakes land in the crop of gorgeous blonde hair, recently cut to his preferred length. From here, I can even see a little white snowflake melting on an eyelash. He has great eyelashes for a guy.

The way he's walking is confident and, though hidden, I can see the pure joy going off like fireworks in his always carefully guarded heart. The cold giving him his natural sense of belonging, his pure sense of control. This is HIS climate, HIS snow, all of this is his.

Short sleeved black shirt, a band tee shirt, his ripped up black jeans and worn out converse is all he wears. His backpack slung over his left shoulder, one hand holding on to the strap just because. I can see the definition of his muscles, I see the twitch of muscles as he moves his arms. His lips pulled into a straight line so it isn't quite a frown but it isn't quite a smile either, except those corners of his lips turned upward ever so slightly. When he smiles, its gorgeous, though most guys are offended when using words like gorgeous or pretty because they're most often used in the feminine context. He doesn't mind and I wish he could read my mind, to know just how much I think of him.

His strides are confident, like everything else about him now. I wonder what he thinks of me? This girl, shivering in the cold despite all futile attempts to stop. Could a person so confident, so belonging to snow truly love someone who shivers so fiercely by the force of a cool breeze? I wouldn't want to hold him back. Especially after seeing him like this. No one would want to hold him back. So what is someone like me to do? God knows I love him but am I holding him back? I would hate myself if that were so...

He reaches me finally, takes the step up to the small porch and stops right in front of me. Our eyes meet and he smiles freely, reaching out and touching my frozen face, cupping it in his hand. The way he touches me makes me think myself delicate, breakable.

"You should get inside." He says.

"Why ever would I do that? I'm not cold." He shakes his head, still smiling.

"You're skin says otherwise." He informs me. I have to laugh because, despite my skin being frozen and, I'm sure, turning a blueish color, I'm not cold. Despite the shivering, I'm warm on the inside.

"Yes but I'm still not cold." He laughs and takes me in his arms. Despite the freezing temperature his skin is warm and absolutely enthralling. He presses his lips against my own, warm and soft. So this is love. So this is MY love.

"Come on, I'll make you some hot chocolate." And with that, we leave the snowy scene and enter the house. Sitting on the couch, waiting for him to return from the kitchen, I stare out the window to the winter wonderland. Despite the unpleasantries of shivering and being frozen, for him, I wish the snow will never stop.