Sometimes I try too hard to make broken things work.It was snowing. Snowing in a city known for rain. Christmas. Almost. Too many feelings and six days away from his arms and lips our bed a hotel and moments in mountains that were supposed to be “good for us.” Just us. Me. Sometimes I try too hard to make broken things work. Sometimes I try… The silver ocean under snow and my black hair I floated with the tide until my body was too cold to leave. White with cold. My gift just to me. Attached to movement I’m not responsible for. I miss his hands on me. My sinuses were contemplating the flu. In a city of snow and wet socks and a twelve hour drive away from Simon. Simon. “I’m going to go,” I said. “Please,” he said. It was raining when I returned home.