It’s Snowing Outside

January 29, 2008 at 10:23 am (In Real Life, Journaling, Memories, Rants?)

Since you dumped me, I’ve been dreading the first snow. As much as I crave snow and breaking in my new coat, I dread the first snow.

The steady, consistent free-fall of the white convinced me—this is what I had been dreading. This is the first snow without you. As much as we longed for it, as much as we talked about it and prayed for it, that was how much I dreaded it. And yet, here it was.

Undeniably snowing.

I was afraid I’d feel lonely. I was afraid that every time I caught a snowflake on my tongue, I’d have to fight the urge to look at where you wouldn’t be standing.

But I marched into the snowstorm and said fuck the bus. I’m walking.

They weren’t falling thickly at first. The flakes were on the puny side. But it was snowing enough so that if I looked up, I learned something new.

I learned that if you relax, and let the tempo of the falling flakes set your pace, and if you never look at anything but the snow still in the sky, it overtakes you. I learned that snow is much more powerful than I ever thought.

Let it set your pace, don’t take your eyes off of it, and it doesn’t matter what your feet are doing. You never move.

I let the snow hypnotize me as I walked past all the places haunted by your ghosts. By our ghosts.

I didn’t take my eyes off the snow as I walked past where we played dizzy tag, even when I stumbled.

I stared straight into the sky as I passed the location of our first kiss
(I’ll admit, though. A snowflake got caught in my eye and transformed into a tear. Snow is magical like that.)

I almost didn’t even notice when I hit the spot where, six months ago, you surprised me as I told you what the moon looked like.
(Another damn snowflake turned into a tear here, too)

I walked down the path that led us to ice cream study breaks, the path we were walking on when we first talked when I first heard that little voice say, “Careful. You could fall for this one”
(I should have listened more carefully)

Even though that was the path I walked, all I saw were snowflakes falling effortlessly onto my tongue.

I walked, mesmerized by the falling snow until I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t breathe-the world is too crowded with your many ghosts.

I fell. I collapsed, face up, on snow-drizzled grass, and I learned another power of snowstorms.

I learned how the snow can baptize you; how it can wash everything away and make you feel more clean than from any shower.

I stared at the flakes (they’re falling down faster, now, and they’re bigger), and soon every flake became something. There was a snowflake falling on me for every mistake I’ve made-for every thing I wished had never happened and every moment I prayed to God I could forget.

There were enough snowflakes for every time I told you I loved you and for every time I wished you’d call and take it all back.
(I was surprised there was enough snow. I must have lain there for at least half an hour to catch enough snowflakes to cover it all)

I wanted every flake, every moment, and every regret to bury me, and I wanted to stay frozen under blankets of snowflakes.

But that’s not how snow works, and I became baptized under the snow as it melted. For ever little snowflake of wishing and regret that fell on me, two more melted, washing me clean, until I was completely soaked and clean.

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