There isn’t much to say except it’s the day before Thanksgiving and it’s snowing.
The basic idea is to write a ten-line poem in which each line is a lie.
I LOVE THE SNOW.
I haven’t seen enough of it this year.
To wake up to snow on the ground–
and to have it melt and then turn into ice–
was pure bliss.
Who needs sun? I’d rather have cold.
Losing all feeling in my fingers and toes is an inexplicable form of perfection.
Forget Spring, Summer, and Autumn…
I’d rather have Winter.
The cold never bothered me anyway.
Today is the sort of day where it’s warm enough to want to open your jacket, but cold enough that the Winter air stabs your lungs.
These are the sorts of days where I miss high school gym class.
While I wasn’t the most athletic person in my teens– heck, I’m still not– I truly loved running in the cold weather. There was something about having the cold air piercing my lungs as I ran a meaningless circle on the track in shorts and a hoodie that calmed me. Running in the cold freed me, and, even though I really wasn’t any good at it, it became my escape in the winter. I would sing Rent songs in my head (we weren’t allowed to have discmans or ipods on the track) and ruminate about my blooming sexuality. I would run, both physically and mentally, through all of the worst case scenarios in my heads, and, after 42 minutes of consistency, I would be able to focus on whatever could get me through the rest of the day. High school was a time of secretly discovering who I was, and running in the cold during second period gym class became a part of that process.
I wish I could still enjoy the briskness of a winter morning without snow– it’s rare.