She was cold. I hated to see her shiver. It was the world, it was her, it was me. We are freezing. On park benches across America, we were freezing. I pulled up the collar of my coat and squeezed tighter against her. We were sitting watching the lake freeze; it was the middle of the night. We were in love.

We didn’t speak. We were scared of the sounds our voices made when we were trying to talk. The air was so cold, ice on the sides of my shoes, clothes were stiff, bones were heavy, the world was still, and the wind was dead. It was one of those pure freezes. No wind-chill, just cold. The sun was probably dead, the oceans probably frozen. The air had all but disappeared, nothing dared move. But I can still recall the feeling of the hot tears in the corners of my eyes as they slowly froze and grew larger. Stretched across my skin, scraping the flesh tight.

We were in love. We wouldn’t move. It was too cold to hold hands. Too much ice in the air to talk. Silent and dangerous, like the ice crawling over the lake. We we’re scared. It’s not terror if you’re not awake, and I was dead. It’s convincing thoughts like these that give me trouble. Sure I was a corpse, sure I was forgotten, sure I had been killed, sure I was stabbed and beaten and tied and bound and tossed away. I could remember a hundred different crime scenes, a thousand different culprits.

But as it turned out, I was very much alive and only so far gone. I knew that we should move, that we should get up. That our blood should flow, that our hearts should beat drums and we should beat tracks, that we should grow roses in our cheeks and laugh and hold the heat in our breath, blow hot kisses. I knew what we should of done. how we should have felt. But we just sat there, and it got colder and the world would shatter.

But everything was fine; we kept sitting there not speaking. Our shoulders touched, our hip bones touched, our knees touched, our feet touched, our hands were in our pockets and our hearts were locked up. We were in love. I tell you we were in love. My face was tight and bitter, the flesh was unwilling to suffer for the mind, suffer for the heart. The flesh knew the answer. The best in the beast of me knew what was wrong here. But the worst of the rest of me just wouldn’t move.

My knuckles were thick and brittle. I could see them turn to dust and powder up under the skin. There wasn’t even snow on the ground. It was so cold. A photograph wouldn’t have shown the temperature. They rarely show anything. The only sign was the grass. It cracked and broke at strange angles rigid and sharp. The water had frozen and burst through it. If it ever thawed it would lay flat and flimsy, it would not stand up straight again.

She was strong and silent like old mountains. Like great trees. I could never guess what she was thinking. For all I knew she was trying to escape. This suffering, this pain. I was too much of not enough. She could have been running the same words through her mind over and over, building it until she exploded. Hate. She must hate me. I am the damned. And she doesn’t care. She doesn’t have to believe in anyone but herself. She’s so strong that the child I am is ashamed.

You could feel your lungs. They wanted to surrender. Rather just quit than keep breathing this stuff in. It hurt. It was not pain, it was wounding. You felt the lacerations. You felt the wounds of it, not the warning of pain. Whatever danger your body had tried to warn you of was already tearing up and down your chest. Ribcage would wheeze, like the bones couldn’t take it. You could feel your heart slow down, like it was being squeezed. I could see the ice-white tendrils of frost crawl around it crossing paths and pulling at the red flesh.

I couldn’t hear her breathing. She was alive, I just couldn’t hear her breathing. We gave off no signs that we were alive. I think we were blinking. I can’t recall. I prayed for a sign. I knew that if I just saw the way, if I just saw the path I would take it. I’d be fine. We both would. Just a sign. Signal me. Tell me what to do. I’ll do it. I’ve surrendered it all to hope and faith in the unknown. I am a slave, command me.

The ice out over the lake shattered, a great torrent of water spilled out over the surface. It cracked and shifted and broke. The noise was beautiful. The death of inanimate objects, it’s pleasing to us. We like death; it’s a secret we try our whole lives to keep from ourselves. But we really do like it. Mystery, curiosity. We know the answer and we play the riddle anyways. Cold death, slow and painful, they used to call it a shame, we call out everyday. What is life, but our long and slow, painful and precious dance of death.

Please lord, just push my body. Please. I have seen the sign and now all I need is to be forced. I have not the strength to do it myself. Just pick me up and carry us away. Set us in our beds, kiss our lips and tell us to hush. It will be all right tomorrow lord, just tell us and make it so. Just grab my legs and send them forward. Pull my hands out of my pocket and put them to her face. Move my mouth, tell her that the rest be damned that love still stands. Kiss her for me lord. Keep her happy. Love her lord. If you could just love her for me I could make it. Push the hair out of her face and put the corners of our eyes together, let us cry and our tears find the same path down our touching cheeks. Let us quiet up at the same moment and embrace against our sobs. Let us find the strength of one another and let it fill us with tomorrow. Lord just give me the future. I have already surrendered. I am a slave to the day, I am bound this night. Willingly I have surrendered my will. I’ve lost myself lord, find me. Please lord, just do this for me.

She turned, her eyes were diamonds, she turned my head towards hers, her lips were new and brilliant, her hands were warm and white, they were real, we were alive. She moved in close to me and said, we will die here, ignorant and frozen, the rest be damned, Our love must stand. She kissed me, and we moved. My hands were free, I found her heart, we were alive and breathing. Our breaths were warm and shared. We weren’t blinking, I can recall the reflection of her eyes in mine in hers, we were free. We were in love. I don’t need to tell you, we were in love.

The faithful are hopeless slaves, atheists are the hand of god. 

8/22/07