Snowdrops...

There was snow in her hair. Tiny little accumulations of ice which sparkled like carefully arranged pearls, as elegant as if she were gracing a London soirée. In the relative warmth of the tumbledown cottage the notion slowly melted away, darkening the already dark hair and dripping to collect in a puddle about her feet. She had been where she always went, and I had long since given up trying to persuade her otherwise.

I lay quietly in our makeshift bed as she stripped with calm efficiency. She didn’t turn toward me but nor did she shy away. My presence was of little consequence to her modesty. Her borrowed boots thudded to the ground as she peeled off layers of damp socks. The red and chapped hands which fumbled with fastenings were a raw distinction against the pearly hue of the remainder of her skin. As she gave a slight shrug and pulled her brassiere through her sleeve I was struck once more by the oddity of my shirt contorting to sculpt unprecedented female curves. The thought of the cotton which had lain against my own skin and now whispered over hers was intensely personal.

“Budge up.” She said all bony elbows as she clambered in beside me. She burrowed into my warmth, her head on my chest, our legs entwined. I shuddered at the feel of her cold, smooth body against mine. I could feel myself cooling as she stole any heat I had garnered from the blankets. Yet I did not move away. Instead I brushed the hair from her brow, inhaling her damp, earthy smell.

“He won’t come tonight.” She spoke in her queer way which always left me unsure whether I was to be a participant in the conversation. “The road’s blocked up now. And it’s still coming down out there.” There was always some excuse, some reason she would find for his tardiness. I desperately wanted to shake her and insist that he wasn’t ever going to come. I knew, however, that she would continue to wait, deafly ignoring anything she didn’t want to understand. I knew too that I would continue to wait with her, to hold her, even though she would never really be mine to hold.