Hot water to thaw

My neck still feels cold from your fingers. As your hands unravel to let me breathe again, I find myself unsure how to feel. Your eyes told me passion but your grip told me resentment. And now I watch you leave wondering if I understand you at all. I can see the sun now. I appreciate the warmth, but I am sure he will run away again when you come back. I can empathize. There used to be a time when you made me feel happy. When you made me blush against my will. Stealing a smile from me at the most serious of situations. A time before I met you for the first time. Touched you for the first time. You are leaving as quickly as you arrived. My body shivers and I don’t know why. What changed between us? When did late December stop feeling like the warmth and comfort of the fireplace, and instead like the cold, damp and dark of the streets? The farther you go the more I feel safe and warm again. When did you stop making me feel that way? When did you start being cold to me?

I travelled half the world to see you. I understand why you can never visit me. My home is far away in a tropical land. But I wanted to see you. I have wanted to do so for the longest time. And I finally did. But maybe I should have been concerned when my breath froze and turned the air into fog the moment you arrived. How the pumpkins shriveled and died. Your skin brighter than the white chrysanthemums I brought for you. Or maybe they just faded as you came. You told me the flower represents devoted love and loyalty. But they are also laid on graves and funeral sprays by mourners.

Maybe it’s because I can breathe again but I can think more clearly now, and I can understand why you give me the cold shoulder. When you are with me all I talk about are negativity and complaints. A solo symphony on the existential stage. Or as you call it, being dramatic. I tell all my friends I hate you. How when I am with you, ‘tis the season of misery and solitude. But more often than not I am blaming you for my own shortcomings. I call it seasonal depression but I just take the time I spend with you for granted. I miss the joy I had with you. I miss the childlike wonder of the days past. I miss the version of myself that was happy. I am trying to change but it’s a slow process. And I am very impatient. I seek instant gratification despite the knowledge that it is impractical and unreasonable. A head chef who uses hot water to thaw.

I should be thankful for the fever. I appreciate you for calling me out. When I make a victim out of myself at the slightest inconvenience. I apologize for overreacting when you ghost me for the better part of a year. I appreciate the time I get to spend with you. Thank you. For the fever. Thank you for giving me the cold shoulder until I shiver and tremble. Thank you for choking me until I cough up blood.

You are out of sight now. And I already miss you. I enjoyed the time we spent together. You were everything I hoped for and more. My hands freezing and my footing slippery but your touch on my face seemed to make it all better. I can’t breathe when I am near you. Maybe it’s the nervousness. Maybe it’s the fact that the air is thin around you. But I feel okay because my heart burns warmer than any fireplace. Ducks can stay warm in the cold due to their internal temperature. If I can work on myself, I can feel safer and warmer around you. I want to try to be more patient. More understanding. I want to fix what I can between us. Because I can’t help myself from being closer to you. I want to see you again. I hate the feeling of Vaseline on my lips but I want to kiss you again. I want you to hold me and tell me that we are okay again. I want you to come back again. Soon. Immediately.

Patience.

Take your time. Happy anniversary, babe.