New Year’s Eve.

This is my last winter here for awhile. How long, I’m not really sure … I have to say that this has been the mildest December I can remember in my 25 years in Minnesota. It’s only snowed about four times. Now that I think about it, three out of the four times I’ve been with you.

The second time, I remember driving through Minneapolis toward Uptown and thinking how snow was like love; beautiful and dangerous. Scary and magical. I told you this as we walked down Hennepin, and when we paused on the corner of 27th to watch it catch the sparkle of the streetlight, you squeezed my hand.

Last night, after everything-the build, the bend, the break, the fear, the love, the love, the love- you looked out, and the snow took us both by surprise. It fell heavy and purposeful coating all the cars lining your street and blocking out the sky.

“We were together the last time it snowed, too.”

“I’d been manifesting for it to snow one more time before I leave.”

“I’ll think of you whenever it snows … why are you crying?”

We walked the two or three blocks to the thai restaurant by your place, and it felt like we were inside a snow globe. The flakes came down with heft and perseverance, begging to be impactful, to be remembered.