I’ve had a cold for a few days. When I come home from work, I close the doors and windows, and the house gets intensely warm. The warmth reminds me of winter, cold winters with beautiful snow. Truly, every good thing in my life has happened in winter, unlike the bad things that occurred in spring, from breakups and military service to migration.

One cold night. I leave the barracks without leave to be with you on my birthday. We walk through the alleys of the city under the beautiful January snow. You say it’s very cold. I hold you so tightly that I see a plea for a kiss in your eyes. You say you love this manly side of me.

Another night. We sit in the park, and the cold chills your bones. A few people are laughing on the other side. You say we should go. I ask why. You say you’re scared. I say I’m here. You say you forgot.

Another night. I hold your frozen hands in mine. You say how nice it is that my hands are always warm. You say your coworker wishes her lover’s hands were warm too, but they’re not, and you take pride that my hands are warm.

Another night. From the biting cold outside, we seek refuge in an art café. I say your coffee has gone cold. You tell me not to smoke for my own sake. I say I’ll try. You say don’t try. Promise me. Your eyes lock with mine. Your heart can’t bear it. You say only one cigarette a day. I say okay.

Another night, I stare at your eyes in awe. It’s raining. You had said when you sin, it rains.

Another night. I sit in a café two thousand kilometers away, staring at the light across from me. The owner comes and apologizes. He says they’re closing. I put my headphones in and start walking home. I close my eyes. A voice whispers in my ear: “O sun, slowly, do not step into my beloved’s space; I fear your footsteps will wake her from sleep.”