Snowstorms

I imagine that I would love to dance in the snow with you. Most people love dancing in the rain, as do I, but it's something about the snow that makes me realize how tantalizing this love is. The snow is fierce. It falls gently, beautifully, quietly, and gracefully. But as it continues to fall it gets harder and locks us in. It packs thicker and creates more depth than we assume we can bear. I envision that we are stuck. We could be smart though, you know, and do like most people and just go in the house, take off our soggy clothes, and lay before the T.V. because "that's too deep" or it may "hurt too much" to have to stand there and look face to face and to be completely naked with who we are possibly realizing that we don't even love each other at all. Just the idea of having someone at all. But we love the snow; so we stay. And we stare endlessly into each other's eyes and absorb one another. Experiencing a collision with one another's flaws, but still finding strength to move our feet in a waltz.
I want to dance in the snow with you because no matter how hard it is to push through, we will. No matter how frozen I become, your love is a flame that burns every fear of not being accepted away. No matter how crunchy it may seem or how imperfectly round our snowballs are, they are ours. No matter how lopsided our snow man is, it doesn't matter, it's ours.
See, the thing about rain is that shortly after, there is sunshine, a rainbow, a sign that all the trouble is over. When a snow storm is over, everything is just beginning and even when the sun comes out to melt everything away we are still left with a mess. A mess that everyone hates and no one wants to deal with. But I [still] want to dance in the snow with you. From the beginning of the first snow flurry when everything is sweet and exciting to end of nothing but built up black ice that everyone is annoyed with. I still will be smiling, marveled by every breath you take, hoping that you are holding out your hand asking, "May I have this dance?"