before the melting

He’s not much taller than me and when he holds me I think about wholeness even though i was whole already. Kissing him coincides with the coming of winter. By morning he is scraping frost and i am drinking the dregs of a kombucha. Sorry I waited so long to kiss you, he says, kissing me. I wonder if I should be afraid that he came the same time as winter. Wonder exceeds fear.

Later that day, we climb along a trail where i once confronted a young, territorial moose. Winter is here, so the frost glitters like something from a different planet, and golden hour lasts forever. I hadn’t eaten or slept much, so climbing a mountain seems daunting, but i do. At the top we sit in sunlight and talk about our childhoods. The dog comes running back, carrying a dead rabbit in his mouth. We scream but he won’t drop it. We are angry at him, he is angry at us. We are all just acting in our nature.

I sleep. I eat. I worry that he won’t text me. I worry that I’m falling into old scripts, afraid of rejection or captivity. He is a chef and an artist: he works while I sleep, he sleeps while I work – we are doomed. “Wednesday I’d cook for you,” I text him despite myself. “Intimidating, but I would.”

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