“Warm/Cold”
She was a burst of warmth in an icicle world. She shot heat into his heart with a jolt that made him jump. It was a spark, like the kind that came from static and carpet and electricity. He swore he saw a flash of light.
And then she broke away. The spark had scared her. Truly and deeply. It had shocked her soul in such a way that she thought she had died. She ran. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t worth it. Not today.
He stood there, begging the spark to return, but it couldn’t. Not without her. He was cold again. His toes and fingers were tingling and hurting and adjusting to the absence of warmth.
She ran and ran, and realized that warmth was gradually dissipating like fog that hides when the sun comes. Her obedience to the fear had become a disobedience to what could be, and she wasn’t sure. Would she perpetually live a life of disconnected disinterest? She didn’t answer her question because she knew the truth, and she was afraid.
He knew he had to do something. He ran and ran, hard and fast, until he felt his legs breaking. The cold scratched and bit his face. He coughed and spat and kept running. To her. He saw her back through the colors and distractions and ran toward it, watching it get closer, closer.
She felt him grab her shoulders and turn her around with a force that scared and comforted her. He stared at her with a breathless intensity, willing her to listen and trust. Heat emanated from her shoulders where his hands were and ran to her heart and limbs. He was breathing heavily from running, so much that he couldn’t talk. He tried twice and then gave up. Her eyes were wet but she didn’t notice.
She lifted a hand up to his cheek and spoke.
“Te amo. Te amo. Te amo.”
