In an attempt to be more like Jesus

I may try snowshoeing. This morning I contemplated buying a pair, priced them, figured my size (they said it was okay to lie about my weight for my driver's license but not to find the right size of snowshoes--the snow, apparently, keeps us all honest). Sitting in my apartment, putting lotion on chapped hands, knowing a chill was crossing the country, made me think of miracles. Could I walk across snow and dream it’s water. I'd like to walk on water. I suppose I have in the winter. Freezing temperatures, Bentley, makes us all messiahs, miracle makers. I'm in need of miracle, the word. Some days I want to leave this place, follow your path through the snow. You left me here, brotherless, nose bleeding from the cold. But I’m dealing. My new year's resolution was to suffer more. I’m determined to succeed at something.

And maybe I already have. I’m still in love, surviving the summer, when I can’t seem to feel a thing—a reverse thawing. And, yes, I fall in love each morning—but it’s easier to love in the morning of winter, before the sun comes up. So many possibilities in darkness.

I didn't know, Bentley, if I'd return here, but the wind chill, the refusal to leave the apartment, and who else do I think of but you. There is so much. To tell. I need you when the snow comes.