Grit jaw. Steel eyes. A glare that could cut glass. You approach the world with weary confidence forged from a life of learned indifference.
But you crack for me.
It starts small. Wry amusement. A sly chuckle. Pupils dilating. Until the crack shatters and your lips puddle on mine like velvet.
And finally, I see you.
The crow calls, and I open the door.
Snow and frost and bitter cold cuts deep into my skin, breaking open long healed scars that were once gaping wounds.
Barren trees tremble and the ground cracks with ice.
You came. You came.
Alone and needy, you smell my fire and melt into a smile.
And despite the crows warning, I give you refuge. I shelter you in my soft depths and keep you warm in the dark winter.
A sparrow sings. Snowdrops dip their heads above ground. On the first day of March, the moon blots out the sun. In the darkness, you slip away, leaving only petals in your wake.
I could never hold you. I am winter reborn. Frost and starlight, cold nights and silver moons. I sparkle like icy frost, but you glitter like morning dew.
You always leave. But this time you left a seed.
I feel it changing my body from within. Planting roots. Budding like a shy violet in the light of the day.
The crow tilts his head and murmurs.
Be patient little one, I whisper.
Be patient.
Whimsy mixes with the stubble on your chin. An incongruous pair, but one that hangs on you like a cloak.
You walk next to me, not quite equals, but less youth and more man.
Except for tonight.
Tonight you wrapped yourself in the trappings of childhood. You donned your youth like it was the treasure and not the burden.
And you trick-or-treated with your mom.
At 17.
Hipstory 