Posted on December 3, 2008


It’s winter and everything is covered in snow. December midnights are uncluttered, silent, peaceful, and clean. We’re inside the little gingerbread house inside the snowglobe. We’re alone, wrapped in the quiet snowflakes sinking. We’re someplace deep inside the pocket of this freezing earth. Everything is just fine.

There are people that I wonder about during this time of year. The world seems larger in the winter. I feel so separated, like I could drive for hours and this city would continue to stretch for miles and miles in front of me. I feel unreachable and holed up in this little state. And everything is just fine.

It’s easy for me in December to smile upon the memory of you like some dissolving dream or some long absent sickness that barely scathed me. The demon that never was, the imagined ghost, the lover I made up in my head so long ago. It’s easy for me in December to smile when I remember, and all fear has soaked softly into the snow. And everything is just fine.

We’re alone or maybe I’m alone, wrapped in this blanket of cold and solace. And everything is fine as I sleep inside the cradle of this quietly spinning, burning, and freezing earth.


Posted in: writing