The House When It Is Cold Outside

The colder the street becomes, the more clearly I can feel the shape of home around me. #

Cold outside tonight. Not dramatic, just the kind that makes me cycle faster for the final stretch and feel the warmth of the stairwell immediately when I come inside. I took my coat off, put my gloves down, kicked my boots away from the door and smelled dinner before I saw Yuri. The house in winter is different from the house in summer even though nothing structural moves. Curtains closed earlier. Lamps matter more. The sofa becomes territory. Tea stops being optional. Clothes collect on radiators. Windows become black mirrors after five. I love it. I love summer too, open windows and late light and bare feet, but there is something deeply satisfying about being warm because there is cold on the other side of glass. Tonight I sat at the table with the laptop and watched our reflections overlap the street outside. Yuri passed behind me twice, first carrying a glass, then looking for something he had apparently put down thirty seconds earlier. I knew where it was. This is what thirteen years does to people. You become an external memory device. «Table.» He looked. «Ah.» I didn’t even need to turn around. The heating made its little sound. Music was low. My tea steamed beside the computer. There are days when happiness is embarrassingly easy to locate.

Remember me, Eclipse.