Traumatic and Possibly Monstrous

You said you were going out to make a snow angel.

You asked if I wanted to join you. I wanted to, of course, because you look so cute in winter wear and because I love you. I refused, however, because I was mad at you.

I lost track of time.

When I looked out the window, I saw your snow angel under the willow tree where you had refused to marry me. I didn’t see you, however, in your snow angel.

I went downstairs and out the back door. My love? There were no footprints in the snow. Only your snow angel under our tree.

I walked out to your snow angel and prostrated myself inside it. It was warm and smelled of your perfume. I closed my eyes and let the cold eat at my body.

I walked out to your snow angel the following day and took up residence inside it. It was still warm and still smelled of your perfume.

Again the next day.

…

Your angel has begun to decay. It is dirty, unshapely. But still it is warm and possesses your scent.

When it is gone, will I have lost you?

Spring is coming.