Frost
There is frost between us, you and I
There is frost between us, you and I.
We are curious about its formation, so we consult the encyclopaedia and deconstruct our downfall.
For frost to form, the air must cool. This began in October. Before, the thermostat was set too high and our words were pure heat. We burned ugly brands into each other, scalded away our best memories with the steam of it all. But then, you left. You jumped / I pushed you. It is all the same once the air has cooled.
There must be water vapour. Ours came from decades of weeping in rooms decorated fiercely and left in flames. Warmth made the tears an invisible, gaseous cloud, hanging over our every move.
Frost must find a suitable surface on which to build. If we’d kept just a little levity, if there’d been a little less real pain behind our mock dramatics, its landing place would have been warm and uneven. Or protected by the shade of something wholesome and permanent. But the ground beneath us was a sheet of cold steel when the air had cooled.
And then the nucleation starts. Rolled eyes and thoughtless words. Selfish choices, mirthless laughter. Crystal by crystal, frost erupts in sharp spikes and rolling curls. This, we learnt, was dependant on the direction of the wind. Windward and leeward it formed; others’ opinions carving into or adding shape to its mass. Circumstances warmed and situations chilled. Hours of quiet slush followed days punctuated by nothing but the crack of a new fractal.
And so here we stand, proud pillars on two sides of a wall of ice. Supercooled. There will be no avalanche.
We are simply waiting for our feet to free themselves so that we can walk away.
