Friday, February 1

A Lost Spot in Time

We're trudging through the snow when he stops me, turning my face to his. I'm blinded by the winter sun gleaming off of the snow. He smiles at me. Not goofy or fake or faux-photo-ready. Just a quiet smile. A loving smile. His hair is growing out and it looks better. The scarf around his neck makes him look older. Something like dignified. That smile and that scarf, and he looks like the person I want him to be. The man in him somewhere that I still love. The sun is wild beauty over the crystal landscape, and he moves his face to shade me.
I want to keep this moment.
Trap it.
I want to stay in this moment and never leave.
As he looks down at me I want to kiss him. I want to give back that love that's smiling down at me.
This strange, perfect look on a strange, perfect winter day.
But that inexplicable anger still writhes inside me. That empty, hollow sadness that has been drowning me for for days without reason.

I want to kiss him. I want to smile and love him and be happy in this beautiful moment. I want this moment.

But the rage boils, and I don't embrace him. I don't kiss him. I don't accept his silent, smiling offer. I turn away, just barely showing my annoyance at the childishness, even though it isn't, and toss away this moment, angry at myself.
I will regret this.
For days.
For weeks.
Longer.

Even now, I think of this moment.
I miss it. When he kisses me, even through the fog of my lingering unhappiness, I see that face. That smile. That dazzling, snow-shimmered sunlight. That moment.
The image comforts me. Softens my heart.
But the memory-- my purposeless, sad anger, the haughty turn away-- this hurts.

I miss this moment.
I want it back.

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