At night I watch my breath disappear into thin air, and a small part of me wonders if we're even breathing the same air anymore. I try to remember that you exist. I can't rationalize your existence by my memories, which are fickle, unreliable things that change shape right underneath my fingertips. I'm relying on physics, on thermal equilibrium more precisely. Because I know that a body creates heat, which raises the temperature of all the objects surrounding it.
And I think to myself, if you didn't still exist, the world would be a much colder place. Wouldn't it?
It was around Thanksgiving when I thought I lost you. It snowed heavily in early November, which never happens in Bellevue. And I remember numb toes and fingers and how you let me just walk away and I almost got hit by a car on the way home because I couldn't believe you didn't care about me anymore and I couldn't warm up even when I was indoors because the world just felt so cold.
"Hey, I'm around."
I still get emails from you. But if I ever faced you, I don't think it would make any of this any more real. Because I've looked into your eyes and seen that you have no love for me, and I felt all the heat in the world extinguish.
But the world isn't so cold now. And I know that I'm not going to die alone.
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