I knew that this was not true. That is not all I had ever wanted. I could distinctly remember—only one thing because it was hard to engage in the busy task of concrete recollection—but I could remember that one particular strong, strong want: when I would walk through the mall and smell the fresh-baked cookies and want a brandy snap so badly that I could just about feel the crack of biscuit and the ooze of cream.

So I knew what seemed to me then, that all I had ever wanted was to touch him, to feel the actuality of his flesh, to know—I knew that was a lie. But right then I could not deny the feeling. Right then, in the infinite universe suspended in that infinitesimal moment, it was my truth.

‘Did you rebuild yourself?’

‘How could I?’

‘Redemption?Acceptance? Moving on? Forgetting?’

He almost laughed.

‘No, I just stilled my soul.’

‘God?’

‘Earth and us.’

‘Earth and us?’

He walked over to me. He walked against the firelight; his silhouette was lit up.

And I thought he was going to kiss me, but I only thought that because I was too literal, too not enough of a person. I am ashamed of how little I was when he came and stood behind me. In the firelight, he traced the line of my arm, traced a line along deep blue crepe.

‘This is a pretty blouse.’

I am a little person and I think he will kiss me.

He whispered in my ear, called me a name I am not.

‘Not on the mouth, my dear, not on your lips. Not on you.’ And he whisper-sings a song into my ear, and it is the most beautiful collection of sentiments masquerading as sounds that I have ever heard. I am stripped of flesh and bone in its wake, overwhelmed by the sheer force of its beauty.

‘You are magnificent.’

‘I’m just snow.’

‘And you have left invisible stains in this world.’

‘And we have left invisible stains on the world.’

‘In mine, in my world, you have been a havoc, all the change.’ He tipped his head in acknowledgement then. I think he might even have smiled a little.

‘You are very sad always, are you not?’

‘I don’t know why.’

‘I like to think to be one person is too little for you.’

I looked at him some more. In the end, we do what we have to.

‘You have to go now.’

‘I do.’

And I could only feel a tight finality in my chest, the complete and utter absence of an alternate ending. The world would be just that—just the world.

I said it again, to tell myself. ‘I do. And you?’

‘I’ll be here.’

So I left, but I sang a little as I did so. Boots soaked in cold and snow, lined white with the salted sidewalk, lined light with a song.