“Could I tell you two things?” I ask. A wind from the East comes and scatters the flakes of ice tumbling down around us. I shiver at the chaos, how closely it resembles the state of my thoughts. I take my stiff fingers, lace them through your warm ones, you shift closer to me, your eyes looking straight out into the storm. I wonder silently what you are thinking, but I do not question. My thumb strokes the palm of your hand, the pad sliding over each individual callous as if it were a mountain.

        Before I continue speaking, I take a moment to notice how your breath freezes as it touches the air, creating a cloud before you. Numbed to the marrow of my bones, I take a deep breath, exhale, and watch as it does not form a cloud. My breath is invisible. I think to question this, to pose the idea to you that somehow I am as cold, if not colder, than the air, but then I remember I only have two things to tell you, and it is only those two things you are waiting for.

            “The first thing is,” I choke out, but my voice is rough and my throat is clogged with procrastination. A word floats into my mind, saudade. It is a Portuguese word- desire that is vague and constant for something that has and never will be. I start to wonder if you exist at all, but then shake the thought from my mind. What a silly place to stop a sentence. Again you shift, lowering your long neck and torso so your face is close to mine. Still our eyes do not meet.

            Your sweet breath questions my silence. Emotion pricks my eyes, threatens tears to fall, but I hold them back. Instead I close my eyes, focus on a memory, a sentence I had once planned, now forgotten. My fingers squeeze your hand once, tightly, and then let go. The frigid wind soon surrounds them.

            “I love you. I’ve loved you for a while,” I breathe, my voice hardly audible in the grip of the storm. You do not move, contrary to what I had expected. In my planning, I had thought you would either embrace me or shift away quickly, but no, you are still. Perhaps, I think, you did not understand me. I cannot judge your body language. Even with our hands apart your body is still pressed to mine, but I move, I turn to face you. It is dark now; the sky is a mix of greys and purples above us, only slightly red at the dimming horizon. The porch light which hangs above you casts a glare on your hood, but hides your face in shadow. I cannot meet your eyes.

            “This is goodbye,” I whisper into the night and storm.