The day gravity was off.

  

  Get in the fucking car. It is way too cold. It starts to warm up. Turn on you seat heater.

   Five light bulbs illuminate an angel in a red bandana with the world in plastic framed by this white tile. Turn on point and walk out the door. The road is dark and it is getting late. -10 degrees when we hit the border only to have you say "what the fuck are we doing." We are having the goddamned time of our lives and not even noticing it. In the city you forget how bright the stars are exactly. Something dead and gone is so full of hope. With snow falling in a stillness that only this kind of cold can bring I start to worry if we should have came here.

  Lace up. Tuck in, gloves on just in time to live or die. Christ it is so cold out. Yet you, who by all means complains at 30 degrees has not said a word. Out of fear or pride I know not. In guiding you through the perils of a 50 foot long icy hill you seem to have a permanent smile. Which is far too rare in my opinion. Watching you grab your fate and say "fuck off" makes me glad to be alive. Just not to happy when you tell me to fuck off. A fall on site had nothing to do with how far I had already fallen except when you fell, stood up, blinked with snow in your long eyelashes and started to laugh. More of myself was in that smile than anywhere on earth for a second. Indoors you realize how cold you are. The burning of thawing set in as we crossed the same path to speed past blurred lights and ignore what it was. It is a constant red sky in our winter because of the snow reflecting the city lights. 

  

  We slept as the skeletons of Pompeii that night frozen intwined to protect you forever. Like those stars that night I knew I would rather burn brighter than than a thousand suns for just one second than a life time with out a chemical catalyst that triggers a planets destruction. You.