It was December, and as the holidays drew nearer, the crowd grew thicker. I stood alone in a relatively quiet corner of this well-lit park (too bright, if you ask me), hands in my jacket pockets, practically freezing. I was extremely nervous, but more excited to tell you the good news. I would finally be free for a week and we could go anywhere we wanted. Five glorious days of nothing but you and me.
I looked up and saw you walking straight to where I was and I swear I could feel beads of sweat building up my forehead. I willed myself to smile, but alas, I can’t even move my mouth. Was it the cold or my edginess creeping in the surface? I couldn’t tell. Not that smiling mattered; you walked with your head down. That’s new.
By the time you were in front of me, I was virtually speechless. A simple touch can sometimes say more than a flurry of words, I believe. With that in mind and an immense longing to feel your warmth, I immediately reached for your hand, which you unexpectedly and, dare I say, mechanically drew away, as if you’re disgusted by even the thought of us holding hands. Looking up, I frantically searched your face for an explanation. With you still looking at the damp ground and I still at a loss for words, I waited. I think we both did. When you finally looked up though, I wished I knew better to avoid your gaze.
I saw the answer in your eyes.
It was a cold December night, and people poured in from every direction, as if being thrown up by the busy streets. I walked aimlessly through the maze of exuberant adults and children, hands tucked in my pockets, heart frozen.
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