Frozen.

I sit at the window of my New York apartment. Sunlight quickly fades as it is replaced by the signs of night bringing in the first flecks of snow. Storm clouds gather on the horizon and you can see them make their way towards the city. The smell of dampness in the atmosphere is almost unmistakable. That is if, like me, you are a fan of the rain and the snow. The earthly scent that wafts through the air as the first drops begin to fall, is almost intoxicating. I know there will be a storm tonight. One that this city has never seen before. But the question that eats at me is- will there be more than one? One that my heart has never experienced before?

When I came clean with mum, dad and Julian about what I was to do, what I'd been thinking about doing for a while now, they seemed less surprised than I anticipated. Maybe they accepted this of me, sooner or later. I never quite could be held down. But this was more than that. More than just wanting to be free. It was Christmas Day. I'd been home for the holidays and I had decided that if I didn't tell them now, I never would. Family and friends were going to be arriving soon so I figured better now than later, what with Uncle Charlie belching out drunken 'Thank you's' and 'Sorry's' for punching Uncle Steven during Senior Year, and sleeping with his girlfriend. Also, this was something I had to do face to face. I couldn't just brush it off with a phone call to each of them. It wasn't that simple. They deserved to know in person and from me. I owed them that much. Jules was the most supportive. My brother has always had my back with our parents. Even if it was something he didn't agree with personally. It often occurred to me that despite being a boy, he was the more level headed of the two of us, but the decision that I'd made now, only evidenced it further.

My parents in spite of lacking surprise were not so generous in their words and opinions. "You're ruining your life, Jane!" Dad accused as he waved a dead chicken that he'd just cut up and brought from the farm, in my face. I took that as his 'not so subtle' way of being symbolic. "Don't throw away what you have over a "feeling," baby girl. These whims come and go." Mom said, as she looked at me almost pitifully. But how could I explain to them that this wasn't just a 'feeling.' It wasn't like I'd woken up one day and like a chameleon changing color, decided to change my whole life.  This 'feeling' had been emptying my soul and killing me slowly, mercilessly. Telling me that I'd gotten so used to the ordinary that I was terrified to come out of it. This 'feeling' is what had me waking up in a cold sweat every night. This 'feeling' is what brought me down to my knees and compelled me to sought God for help. This wasn't just a 'feeling.'

The key in the hole and the sound of the doorknob as it turns is what snaps me out of my reverie. The storm has begun, the snow hitting heavy on the window pane. Manhattan is a blur now, having been enveloped in a curtain of rain and mist. A bolt of lightening flashes as I look up to see him make his way towards me, his hair a tangled mess of snowflakes, raindrops and perfection, clothes soaked to the tee, and that big glowing smile on his face. The smile that had got me entangled in all of this in the first place. The smile that calmed my fears effortlessly. The smile that I would now snatch away from him forever.

He takes his shirt off as he draws closer and everything around me stops. I want to picture this moment. This final moment, before the storm hits in full swing. This moment where everything is okay. No pain. No grief. I want to remember it forever, keeping it safely locked away in the back of my mind. What happened? I ask myself. Where did it all go wrong? And the thunder lets out a slow growl, as if to answer my thoughts. "These storms are so unpredictable" he says, as he takes my hand and plants a kiss on my forehead. "It was such a perfectly fine and ordinary day in the morning."  

Perfectly fine and ordinary. 

I breathe him in as I take one last look. One last attempt at cementing everything about him in my memory. Every angle of him, the feel of his arms, his hands, the way he laughed, those random tickle wars, the way his brow furrowed when he concentrated too hard, the way he looked in the morning- in all his tousled haired glory, the texture of it, the way he took his coffee, the way his lips tasted, the tiny scar just below his Adam's apple, in the hollow of his collarbone, and his eyes. His brown burning bright eyes. They notice me stare, and he falters looking directly into my own auburn ones. He always knew how to read me like an open book.

You don't love him anymore, Jane. Let go. 

"We need to talk" I say, as I see- and feel to my bone- that glowing smile fade away. "I'm leaving you. I want a divorce."  
The storm cries out, as we sit there.
Frozen. 
Just like we've been all these years.