December 4, 2012
Snow fell outside your kitchen window and the sky held the familiar gray tint that brought not only the frozen flakes but also a peaceful silence to the city below. The tree branches were bowed and heavy from collecting snow, praying for relief. I knew that somewhere on the ground there was a child admiring his handiwork, grinning at a snowman that smiled sloppily back. I knew that that child, nose red and shivering, would go inside happily to a proud mother and a hot cup of coco. That child would sleep warmly in his bed as the snow continued to blanket the world.
I also knew that somewhere on the ground somebody was freezing. They were praying for warmth to a God who just dropped more snow upon their frozen body. I knew that not all was beautiful, not all was good.
But sitting in the kitchen of your tiny apartment sixteen floors about the cold ground I allowed myself not to care. I allowed myself to pretend that nothing else mattered, that you and I were the only people on Earth and the snow was falling just for us.
As I looked out the window all I saw was gray and white; sky and snow. It was as though we were floating. Absentmindedly I wondered that a snowstorm looked like from Heaven. And then I wondered if there even was a Heaven. Or perhaps, this was Heaven. Perhaps this was all that I needed, all I would ever need. THe air in the room was chilly, my coffee was lukewarm, and your voice was soft and kind. You told me stories about anything and everything. And I listened. I learned everything there was to know about you, and then some.
You told me about the house you grew up in and your first kiss. You told me about everybody you’ve ever loved, and everybody who has ever loved you. You told me about the first time you flew in a plane and where you went and why. You told me about all the places you have ever wanted to go and you made me promise that someday I would go there with you. Of course I said yes.
You spoke to me without words, as well. You told me you were happy I was there by the way you angled your body towards mine as you spoke. You pleaded for me not to leave by the way you poured me a second cup of coffee, then a third. And as night fell and the sky darkened, you asked me to stay the night in the way you glanced nervously out the window and muttered about icy roads. I told you I would stay. You looked at me with a grateful glint in your bright, sad eyes. You had eyes the color of honesty; they spoke a million words your mouth never could.
Without words you confessed you were lonely. I smiled because I already knew. I smiled because I was lonely, too.