By Ciéra Cree
We watched the snow as it fell, amonting upon the floor. It looked so perfect there; untainted and untouched by humanity.
I remember that you were standing next to me and that I wished you were standing closer. Occasionally our hands would brush against one another and I could tell that neither you or I really knew what to do. Did you want to move away? I didn’t want to.
In my mind the moment which marked winter was when I could see my breath linger in the air. It never ceased to be able to fascinate me every single time. During those brief moments that piece of me stood still, adrift and able to fly. I bet it would feel liberating to be in that position; in a place where gravity was defied.
Your coat was navy but now hung speckled in ice. Despite the fact that the cold was clearly taking its toll your eyes remained warm. You were wearing one glove with the other hand vacant, dipping into the residence of your pocket in intervals.
I walked to the sidelines of the crowd, missing your presence immediately. My hand felt numb as it exited its glove, fumbling among my bag for a pen. Once I found the pen I wrote what my heart wanted to say:
‘My dear beautiful stranger
I don’t know who you are
And you don’t know me either
But I saw you from afar
I noticed you seemed funny
And the smile upon your face
It made my heart become filled with warmth
That could not be erased
Our hands were nearly touching
And I didn’t know what to do
So I’m writing you this message
To get my feelings through
I think you could be special
But if we leave I’ll never know
So if you feel it too
Come to the bench among the snow’
After writing the note I read it through, blushing loudly. Before giving myself the chance to second guess I ran back over to the crowd, tapping his shoulder quickly and thrusting the note into his hand. I had never felt so simultaneously brave yet embarrassed before in my life.
The time where I sat half hiding behind the bench seemed to last an eternity. Was I being too forward? Too childish? Too everything?
It was beginning to get darker and I knew that I had to go soon which was pretty heartbreaking. I glanced over to the crowd longingly one more time, unable to see the recipient of my ramblings. My heart sank into the snow, becoming cold too.
I took my bag and prepared myself to walk down the path home that I knew all too well, alone as usual. Suddenly something clipped the hat on my head, startling me immensely. What kind of childish idiot was trying to start a snowball fight right now?
It was a glove. Maroon and rolled up into a ball. I picked it up, unrolling it and wondering why it nearly hit me. There was a note inside, reading:
‘To the girl who ran back to the bench
With the silly bobble hat
I’m by far not a poet
But here’s my number
Let’s have a chat x’
My heart thawed. Maybe this winter was going to be warm after all.
The Ruskin Journal 