You slipped your sweater over your head, and I slipped on mine.
You took a drag of your cigarette.
I took one of my coffee.
You picked up a handful of freshly fallen snow, and placed it on your sleeve, where your hand hides underneath.
You exhaled.
Just like how you do when you smoke.
The snow gracefully flittered to the ground.
"Why'd you do that?" I asked you.
"I want to be like one of those people who take pictures at just the right time. If we had a camera, that'd be a great picture."
"I have a camera."
"But you didn't take a picture."
"Yes I did," I replied.
You placed your cigarette between your pale lips and glanced up at me. I sheepishly knocked on my head.
"I see," you smiled.
"This is the only camera I use. It only captures the most perfect of all perfect pictures. Great for memories sake. Better yet, I can never loose it."
"I wouldn't be so sure," you laughed.
You looked down at your combat boots, and gave me a slight shrug of the shoulders. You took another whiff of your lit cigarette.
People usually look down at the ground when they're sad, ashamed, or uncomfortable.
You showed me sadness by the way you slouched. You showed me shame by how you couldn't look into my eyes. You showed me you were uncomfortable by the way you slushed the snow around with the tip of your boot, where beneath that leather were five chilly toes.
"I'm not even going to bother asking if you're okay," I said. You looked up. "Because I know you're not." You shook your head no, and flicked ashes of your cigarette.
The cigarette fell to the ground and you nervously grabbed my hands. You were shaking. I'm not sure if you were shaking because it was bitter outside where we were. Or because you were nervous.
You whispered, "Soon I'll leave you."
My heart dropped.
"Do you mean run away? Because I can go with you I mean I-"
"Yes. Run away. To a far better place than this mess of a world we live in. From everything. Never to face another trouble again."
"Can I join you? Please I can't let you-"
"No Hazel. I can do this on my own. I'm grown."
"But-"
"No."
I sighed.
"When are you going?" I asked you.
"Hopefully tomorrow. You can't tell anyone, love. This is important to me."
"Will you visit me?"
You frowned. "I'll try. It all depends on what happens afterwards."
"What do you mean?"
Snow fell, and you left.
