No—this premeditated coziness is nothing more than melancholy in disguise.
You’ve Missed Me
It has been a while, hasn’t it? I bet you’ve missed those winter visits. I see that the winds still carve grooves into the wood when you aren’t looking. I see that not much has changed. That fire still idles, unhurried in its song and dance. The floor still aches against my steps. The dust has yet to settle. I would hardly call this merriment. No—this premeditated coziness is nothing more than melancholy in disguise. What? Don’t give me that look. I know you. I know you better than anyone.
I bet you’ve missed me. I’m certain you’ve craved all of the dreams we’ve shared and the kisses I never gave. My tinkling laughter. The curl of my lip when I smile. The rich glow of my eyes as I regarded you from across the fire. We share the same ache. I’ve always known more than I let on, or so you believe, and you’ve likened my gaze to smoldering hot embers. I’ve always thought that was a terrible metaphor… but if you so insist, I can be the fire that ignites you and turns you to ash. I can take you back to the earth and allow you to be swallowed whole again.
The cold has this remarkable ability to mimic fire. Did you know that? When both are applied to the delicate entity known as the human heart, you may discover that the sensations barely differ. I’ve always found that intriguing. Perhaps some wickedly intelligent scientist can lull you with the complexities, but I’ve no interest in doing so. I just want to sit by the fire. I want you to tell me that you’ve missed me, and that I’ve consumed your thoughts, like those slow burning embers that you described before. I’d like to fall asleep and pretend that things were truly well. I don’t want to remember what it felt like—I just want to remember what I needed it to be.
I know that you do too.