Things I Could Never Say To You

A Love For Four Seasons: Winter (Freezing)

A friend sent me a Christmas card, with a photograph of her children making angels in the snow. I told her that I wished it would snow here, for even in the middle of December all we had was humid heat that made all our clothes stick to our skin, heavy with sweat.

You don't want it to snow there, she said. A heavy snowfall can destroy anything in its path, burying roads and houses under its weight. And the cold gets under your skin, no matter how many warm clothes you put on. It's not fluffy like cotton candy, not the way we imagined it when we were children.

She told me that she had seen my own pictures: shaking hands with prominent figures, receiving awards for my work, lounging on beaches. I wish I could have all that, she said.

I say nothing, lest I appear ungrateful for everything that had given me so far, because I am not. But all I could think of at that moment was you and I, lying in the snow, the cold biting into our skin, our hands clasped. The snow is slowly starting to bury us, but we do not notice; we feel nothing but warmth.