My bed is by the window. I’ve never seen your room. I’d like to think your bed is by the window too, and we have that in common. It’s snowing. You hate snow. You say it snows too much in Omaha. I agree with you, but secretly I like the snow sometimes. But only sometimes. I like it today. Snowflakes are dancing outside my window, right next to my bed. I imagine each flake having little musical voices and inviting me and my bed out to play. One by one they would support us so we could float and dance with them , so we could fly away together. We wouldn’t be able to say no, my bed and I, you cant refuse a snowflake asking you to dance. It’s bad taste. I close my eyes. I imagine sitting on my bed while it soars through a blizzard. The music you recommended to me, the album leaf, is perfect for this type of thing. For dreaming while you’re awake. You know I’m a dreamer. You like better music than I do. You have an ear for those sorts of things. I peak through my closed eyes. It’s still snowing. A bit harder now. I love laying so close to the window. I think about what else you know about me. I told you I didn’t believe in love, and that I didn’t want to get married. You asked why I loved romantic movies like say anything and when harry met sally, why I read romance novels, why I write love poems. I said that I like all those things because those are the only times when love is real. You scrunched up your face and squinted your eyes and you got this look and then very slowly you said I don’t think you really believe that. You saw right through me. Nobody’s ever done that before. I flinched. Because you were so right. You kept staring at me, with that look, the look that made me feel like you were reading my entire soul through my eyes, even the parts I hide from everyone. The look that makes me scared of you, because nobody ever looks at me like that, and I don’t want it to stop. The look that makes me want you to know everything about me, even though you’re already figuring it out for yourself. I stared back because I don’t think I could do anything else. Then, your face went back to normal and you laid back down and looked up at the ceiling. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to read someone’s mind more than in that moment. But I didn’t ask you what you were thinking. I just followed suit, and stared up at the swirls of paint above us. We stayed like that for a while, not moving or speaking. And I wondered if it was out of line to ask if we could stay like that forever. I open my eyes. It’s still snowing. I sit and dream about floating among the snowflakes, and wish for the millionth time that day that I wasn’t 11 hours and 39 minutes away from you.
January 5, 2010