Snow Through the Night

Then winter.

Snow came the second week of December. Early, and in a foot. I was off work for a couple days and drank and watched it fall and wished I had more to drink and wished I was motivated. I fucked around with the guitar. With the organ. With the time. Snow fell in large swathes, in gentle pieces, gliding through the air, dancing never colliding, and finally resting as a new world, in love upon the last. Upon the leaves and grass, barbecues and t-shirts. Goodbye autumn. Goodbye hope of fortune. Goodbye to you, last strand of summer love. Goodbye.

Drink and watch the snow.

I never minded a snowstorm, and preferred a blizzard. I disliked winter intensely, though I loved snowfall. The ease of it. The way it seemed to hold warmth in the air. The comradery of the neighborhood shoveling together. The teenagers running and sliding on their boots down the street. The almost cheerful drone of the plows a few streets over. I would like to exist in two worlds; a world only in the third week of July, and a world perpetually in a neighborhood blizzard between 3 and 9 p.m..

Drink and watch the snow.

The thought of suicide had been kicking around a lot lately. My last honest attempt, the last time I went through with it was in August, but the last time I made plans... Wrote the note. Packed the bag full of rope and went to the bridge, well, that was only a month back. Suicide never really left my mind, as I assume it never really left anyone's. Are we not innately designed to want to die and lie to ourselves about it? I always felt as though my mental defect wasn't the suicide bit, it was the lying bit. I was terrible with lying to myself. I hate winter, but I admit I love snowfall.

Drink and watch the snow.

Dev was over, making enchiladas in my kitchen and I had a beer in my hand. The dark began to drift into the air, over the roofs and awnings, branches and snowbanks. On my stereo Chopin danced and flit and I eventually changed it over to Nick Cave and I sat in my house. My hovel. My warm portion of the cold town. I ate an enchilada. I drank. Through the dark the snowfall was invisible though I still found myself wandering to the window. Waiting for headlights to share a moment of peace with me. Waiting. Loving.

Drink and hope to watch the snow.

Drink and hope to love.

Snow, through the night, fell. I, through the night, loved.