Winter Months

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  • Published: 15 Dec 2013
  • Updated: 15 Dec 2013
  • Status: Complete
What if the twelve months of the year were twelve different persons? What if, just like us ordinary mortals, they too have stories to tell? Stories of love and longing. Here is my take on a possible love 'dodecagon' between our beloved winter months. *Winner of the Second Advent Competition*

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2. January

He walks in long and purposeful strides, wrapping his arms inside his coat to look like an ordinary winter-day traveler. It has been a long walk indeed, but he finds solace in the fact that it can stop tonight. Far on the horizon, he can see a full moon ascending and somewhere in that direction, there is someone who awaits his arrival. He must walk fast.

The monotonous crunching of snow under his boots gives him an excuse to lose himself in his musings. He wonders what he would say to her when they met tonight. He knows how she feels about him. She doesn’t make many efforts to hide it. But he also knows those feelings can never be reciprocated. It is not possible.

And still, every year on this day, he finds himself walking a protracted walk to her. It is an obligation. It is not something he has control over. He tries to ask himself whether he would still make the trip if he could help it. Probably not. This annual meeting under the oak tree is not something he looks forward to. In fact, he dreads it.

Quarter to midnight, his walk nears its end. The ancient oak is now in sight and so is the girl standing under it. She is so beautiful, so young too. Her face looks tired, of all the waiting he presumes, but when she spots him, it lights up like a clear summer sky. He feels his heart sink. How he hates to see her expressions change as he approaches. He wishes it was different. On many occasions like this, he even wishes he could change the way he feels about her. But he knows it is not possible.            

There is someone else.

There is always someone else.

He can almost hear her heart beat faster as he moves closer still. She is smiling at him, nervously playing with her golden tresses. It makes him feel sad, helpless. He can’t love her like she does him. It just isn’t possible.

She holds out her hand expectantly. He reaches for it, hating himself as he does. What is that running down her cheek? A tear? He hates himself even more.

She looks like she wants to say something, but her voice is caught in her throat. He doesn’t mind. He would feel worse if she spoke. Instead, she moves closer, fitting her palm perfectly in his. It is cold, but when it touches his, everything changes. Warmth and energy emanates from the contact, encasing it in a mystical glow. He is not new to this but every time he experiences it, he is awestruck. It is just so incredible. She eases him into an embrace and he instinctively inches away. She doesn’t seem to notice. She never does.

As midnight hour begins, the bond between them strengthens by itself. The gentle warmth is now a searing heat, originating at their intertwined palms and spreading through his arm to his entire being. All of her energy and power oozes into him. He can feel it happen. He can feel her presence flickering and his growing stronger. She is dissipating. He catches a final glimpse of her face – content and complete – before she disappears. She is whole for once before she fades away.

As night changes into day, her existence melts into his.

As night changes into day, December melts into January.

In the blink of an eye, she is gone. It is only him now and it will be this way for quite long. Now it is his turn to wait like she did for him. His turn to wait for someone who shall come, and when she comes at long last, he could feel complete too.

And so, beneath the ancient oak where winter months change, he begins his wait for February.   

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