5:30am. Jack Frost nipped at our noses and you laugh at my flushed red cheeks. If they ever caught us, we wouldn't hear the end of it, you said. We both knew that was true, but neither of us did anything about it. We walk towards the bleachers in silence — comfortable, not deafening silence. The kind of silence you hear as you watch the snow fall outside while your eyelids flutter shut, the kind of silence you hear when you read your favourite novel — you can feel the stillness of your surroundings but that doesn't bother you. 5:52am.The wind whips your hair and you squint your eyes as it blows against your face. It would be less painful if you simply closed your eyes, but you didn't want to give in — even to the winds — even to Nature, no matter how much larger they are compared to you. Oh, how silently rebellious you were. I bet you never even noticed this about yourself — it came to you so naturally, like breathing. I take in your scent — you smell fresh — raw even, like clean sheets and pine forests. I like you like this, clean and fresh — no musky leathery thick cologne, or God knows what you sprayed on yourself the last time we met.
6:02am. You looked like you were freezing so I offered you my extra coat, but you declined. Perhaps it was too feminine for you and you didn't want anyone to stare, although at 6 in the morning it didn't look like anyone would be around to judge you anyway. "What do you think about seasons, people always write really deep things about seasons" — you ask. I laugh because you're really bad at bringing up subjects to talk about. What's so funny? You ask. Nothing, I reply. You raise an eyebrow and cocked your head in my direction, yeah right — your dark eyes say. They weren't eyes with thirty shades of blue — the kind that you could stare into for hours just exploring that sea of colour. No, they were usually clouded with judgement and fear and lack of concern, but they sparkled sometimes, and they told a story — a story you kept hidden. I wanted so much to hear your story, to hear what it is that you don't want anyone to know of. But of course, I don't bring that up. I could see how hard you were trying to start a decent conversation — you deserve that bit of credit, I thought, and looked away because I could no longer hold your fiery gaze.
6:28am So, we talked about seasons. We talked about how bare the trees look now without their lush green leaves, how silent it is when the crickets aren't here to greet the arrival of day and night, how still Winter makes the world feel. We talk about our favourite seasons — mine being Autumn and yours being Spring. Why autumn? It's the time where everything begins to die off for Winter. I tell you about how warm yet cool Autumn felt — the rustling of the leaves as you run them over on your bicycle (I also mention how I love the sound of crackling leaves) the busyness of the animals as they prepare for the cold, how Autumn was the most beautiful ending this world would ever have. I turned to look at you — your mouth was tilted in that slanted grin that gave me butterflies, although I wasn't quite sure this time because the cold was making me hungry. 6:46am. So tell me why you like Spring and you mention that it's because it is the complete opposite of Autumn — the sun is high and bright in the sky but not at unbearable temperatures like in Summer, the animals begin to awaken and the world feels more alive than it ever was, flowers bloom and forests return to their original colour. New beginnings — you say, as you turn to look at me. I feel my face turn 10 degrees hotter than my blue fingertips.
6:58am. As you spoke, I watched the details of your face, the way your brows furrowed when you couldn't find the exact word to voice your thoughts, the tinkle in your voice when you speak of things you really care about — it's not a stark contrast, it's just different. I don't know why I know about that, it's not like you speak very much. I wonder how much you notice. I wonder how I look to you. A hundred people could look at me and describe me with all the words they could find, but it would never compensate for what you see. I believe that a hundred people could look at you, use the thesaurus to help liven up their description for you, but they could never see you the way I do. It's not that you're perfect — heck, I don't believe in idealistic perfection. But you're alright, maybe a little more than alright — and I'll give you a bonus for trying to start a conversation.
7:26am The first crack of light burst through the horizon like a streak of lighting on a gloomy night. It bathed the landscape in all of it's golden glow — the sight was breath-taking. I never watched the sunrise before — I almost never wake up early enough for it, I say.
New beginnings — he said.