I: Can I Make It Snow on the Inside of my Heart?

Left to rot in the sun and the snow, both summer and autumn bring the same pain. An early snowstorm brings nothing but pain to me. Sometimes I walk and sometimes I sit on my own in the park. That’s where we used to sit. Now the benches are sheeted in frost and it glints at me. Your eyes used to glint. Imagine me when you are gone, yes? Because I miss you and I wish you were back here with me. I know you won’t come back. You would never choose to, and it is my fault. I’m the one who drove you to leaving, am I not? It is fine, my love. Rest. Rest with someone else. Rest in the grasp of the sweet earth, with its necrophilia and obsessive personality. For now your coffin will have been eaten through by the roots of death and, within that, your problems are solved. For me, though, of course, they remain. I am here to pick up the pieces of your world and your broken promises.

Don’t worry, my sweet. I will fulfil this unasked favour. The wood may have rotted, but my innermost feelings never die.

For I am your love and I will love you forever. Even if, every autumn, I have to sit alone and every summer I have to walk alone. I will travel the world, repaying your depts. With my feelings and my money, I will fix it. I don’t mind. You are worth it. You were worth it. And still, every day, I come back and I kiss your grave. I kiss your stones and I kiss your earth. I kiss your people and I kiss your house. I kiss your car and I kiss your flowers. I kiss my hand, the one you used to hold. I kiss the mirror. I pretend. It is never the same. It is okay. Go with whomever you want. I will always watch you and keep you warm and safe, even if you cannot feel it anymore.

Good-bye, ma cherie. Don’t worry about the lust and the deceit. I will pay it all off. You rest in the warm arms of heaven and sleep. Sleep forever. Sleep for months, years, centuries.

 

If it were summer, I could stop by the river and feed the swans. They mate for life, you know. When I was younger, I used to think that they mated for life, not for life. I thought that, if they didn’t mate, they died. That seems rather dark, but that was me. I always considered those things. It was me. It is me. I explained these things, and you understood. If I asked for something, you understood. If I told you not to touch me, you understood. Sometimes I think that you don’t want me touching your stone and resting place, so I leave you alone down there.

 

If you had been cremated, I could have slept with the ashes on my bedside table. I am not sure if you would have liked this, so I always would have asked. But you were not cremated. You wanted to be in the arms of the earth, lonely and cold. My heart is lonely and cold. So cold it could frost over, like the park benches. The swans’ feathers are not as white and pure as snow. Unlike you. You were whiter than swans. Whiter than pure. Purer than snow.

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