The Well-Known Lovers, Part I

Encrusted in ice, a pale pink bloom succumbs to its new found weight and falls to the ground.

Heavy with the weight of so much sorrow, they kneel together in the deepening snow, saying nothing. Brows touching, facing their foe, their enemy and their beloved - holding hands to ward off a chill that has little to do with the weather. Deep in the forest, where secrets lay hidden, protected by frost and frond, two tragically beautiful figures subsist; aware only of each other’s breathing and of their shared pitiful longing.

The snow falls thicker and faster than before; the first arrangement in Winter’s Last Opus. Pluming clouds of breath’s last kiss may well betray their arrangement, but here in the shelter of the empathetic trees, the snowstorm blankets them in thick, heavy flakes; a protective coverlet shielding them from inevitable wickedness and foul intention.

It has the effect of deadening the sounds of their soft I love yous, their sweet, soft kisses on wet cheeks, impossibly warm and cold at once. Snowflakes falling on their cheeks, their lashes and hair; the muffling fall concealing their passionate tearful goodbyes. More importantly, subduing the consciousness of the force that would endeavor to keep them apart, if only for the moment. These are the last sweet moments they will ever be together.

They are now painfully aware that it is, in fact, still winter. An early spring has been deceived by a late winter storm not ready to release its icy grip on the forest. A blossoming spring will never come for them now, as they had hoped, and they must part for the greater good of their families.

In the midst of a heavy snowfall, appropriate and mocking, they find themselves unable to leave the side of their lover. Ironically beautiful, the storm holds them here, suspended in time. For what they are fighting now is time. Time is the enemy that would see them part, that would leave them each alone, forever longing. They have but a few moments together...and that will be all.

Poignant and momentous, they will never forget this last taste they enjoy together. All bitterness and rage deferred as they steep in the forbidden tea they have prepared for themselves; drinking it all in, savoring every last swallow.

Holding hands, steadily squeezing, gently pumping palms as if to keep alive the dying heart of their forbidden romance. A love to be executed at light’s first dawn by the very people who gave them life; no likely pardon offered of their frigid kin.

The blanketing snow does nothing but imbue seclusion. All was quiet in the frozen forest, aside from the padding layer encircling the lovers; these corpulent flakes that profoundly insulated them from cold and bitter consciousness.


Sound familiar? More to come...