White

It’s nearing midnight. The snow pillows outside and I’ve been within these walls for too many hours. I feel as though I haven’t seen another’s eyes for days. I am not here.

Beneath winter is me, buried. Between me are endless skies, blue, endless answers. I could be yes and I could not. The snow lies heavy on my eyelashes and I ache, sometimes without knowing. You are hidden from me between the seasons. And my heart pillows, grows. I can feel it budding within my bones, floating and light. It’s more than I know. I am straining. Time is sprouting around me like gasping wildflowers. Long and swaying purples slipping from between my fingers, they grasp for me. I want to hold them, you. I want to be everywhere. I want to not be here, or you not there. My bewilderment consumes me.

Where can I live but now? Where can I be but here. The snow will stop one day, she must. As will I. Sometimes I imagine myself in warm meadows and everything is stiller than time herself permits. I am the only thing that moves. Where is that place? It must be somewhere other than inside of me. Or do I dream only? I dare not ask. I am breathless again and my heart empowers me to sleep, to dream. To embrace. Our bodies soft between each other.