With You I Melt

The sun breached the clouds early that morning.

Yesterday bore wild flurries, uncharacteristic of March. Thick, wet flakes blanketed the ground and stole silence deep into compacted earth, a whole foot deep. The usually sleepy street rang with the cries of children, squealing with delight as they sledded down the one hill. The Creator, not possessing a sled, had worked with singular concentration gracing her young brow, working the snow into spheres.

Today, Seth stared at Sally beneath the now-cloudless sky. The Creator was nowhere to be found. By 1 PM, the temperature reached 80 degrees. Drops dripped in staccato from Sally’s carrot nose. Her glove fell off a shrinking right hand, thudding wetly.

“Your head looks smaller than yesterday. And why do you keep crying?” Seth asked, concern ringing through the tinsel line of his mouth.

“I’m crying because I’m thinking of how much I love you. I’m thinking of the moment last night, when we first fell in love. Also, your chest looks smaller than yesterday,” Sally professed.

“I love you too. My chest feels smaller but my heart just as full.”

The moment last night: alone in the silent backyard, Sally and Seth broke the silence, first speaking together at once. They giggled. An owl called. A bright moon broke through cloud.

When the sun set that evening, Sally and Seth were thin slivers of snow in the grass, the glint of their button eyes and tinsel mouths atop them, catching the last glittering rays of sun.