Return to truths, rearranged (person)

It was raining when we left the [subway map floating in a new york sidewalk|subway] station, or maybe snowing. Wet. Whatever it was, it was coming down in sheets ([snowdrift|drifts]?) and slicking the sidewalk. It was [the awkward quiet of hospital hallways|cold], I remember that, because I can still see the way my breath [what to do when your girl melts|fogged] and drifted when I close my eyes. Or maybe it was the clouds [mandolin rain|drifting low], or maybe the steam coming up through the grates in the sidewalk. Maybe my breath was fogging my glasses and giving everything a softer edge.

I was cold, my fingers frozen together with ice and stiff, my coat pockets providing nowhere near enough warmth to return them to life. She was cold too, but [bastion|stalwart]. [Thank you Mario! But our princess is in another castle!|Impenetrable], even by her standards. Or maybe that's not true, either. Maybe she was [piano outside in the snow. and she was spinning|dancing] in the snow (I think it was snow, now - something about that [the frooked house|meandering] quality that rain just can't pull off and rain doesn't look right for this scene) and dodging to keep the flakes off of her eyelids.

We slid down the street like [what would brian boitano do?|figure skaters] tethered together by our mutual [momentum]. Sometimes we held hands. That's [something's always wrong|wrong] - we linked arms, could keep our hands in our pockets that way, and weaved our way from storefront to storefront, basking in the cheery glow of shoplight. Or maybe I saw that in a movie somewhere and borrowed it - throw in a cheery [rockefeller center|Christmas]-themed soundtrack, [jingle bells|jingling bells] and [chestnuts roasting over an open wire|crackling fires] and all that and it could be a montage between moments of actual plot. Real people don't do things like this and anyway it was [christmas in february|February], long removed from ornaments and ribbons. Damn, but it felt like Christmas.

We wandered, got [get lost|lost], found a little tearoom and conquered its huge, tattered, red velvet sofa. We thawed and drank and laughed at the portrait of Elvis on black velvet hanging above the counter before trudging back out to find our way home. Or maybe that was a different day altogether, a different day in a [wicked little town|different town] with a different girl.

It's frustrating that I don't have a [mirror image|clearer] picture of this, all these scenes jumbling together like slips of paper in a [two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl|fishbowl]. Reach in and [raffle marriage (in a bar last night)|draw] one out, then another and another. Throw in some [link and link|linking words] and there you have it, a year out of time - a relationship. A childhood. A life. An epiphanic moment that never actually happened outside of my own head. 'And this is when I [the moral of the story|learned] that...' but I didn't learn anything. It's like inventing [fable|morality] tales for your kids so they don't come out as twisted as you did, or at least twisted in their own way.

Anyway. I was happy then. Or maybe not. [i was happy then. or maybe not. i can't remember.|I can't remember].