Soliloqui

When I think of him his teeth are white but his mouth is closed into a haphazard pout.
There are only so many adjectives in the English language, I say.
That’s news to me, he says as he flashes his gums.

Winter never suit me. I was more of a falling leaves, falling forever type of girl. When the wind blew them into circles I counted the seconds of freefall, silently sounding out the numbers with my tongue, tapping out a soft rhythm in the mist of morning. These moments don’t exist in reality, only in the poetry of temporary thoughts as the traces of sleep slowly slip away.

Maybe there was one. But one. One is enough? That’s what they say. They say lots of things though. They can’t all be right but they sound so sure. Sure, I can roll with that.

His eyes are as I remember. I can only remember them looking straight at me. Any other way and the image isn’t mine.

He has orange mittens, stretched into small checkered holes. I can see his skin but he doesn’t tell those who ask that it was my first time. He holds them to his head instead. Earmuffs.

Yesterday was winter, tomorrow will be fall. The carpet is wet with snow.