It was hardly a silent night when the pregnant crystal snowflakes fell about – between the moonbeams and streetlights. Each descending its own path of least resistance – like the swollen tear that ran down your cheek and settled in your ear as you cried yourself to sleep.
I tried to call to you from where I stood on the decaying wooden staircase but my words were muffled by the downy mist. I watched you shiver – the snow clinging to your eyelashes – little bursts of air spilling forth from the thin space between your thin lips.
I called out your name again, my cold red hands cupped to the sides of my mouth. My breath’s steam carried your fragile name and nestled it into your frozen red ears.
The night finally fell completely – leaving only the naked sun over your left shoulder. It burned my eyes and made me close them tightly. The brilliant reflection off of each blade of each snowflake danced – pink – across my eyelids.