A LOVE LIKE THIS by Gabriella Garozzo

A Love Like This by Gabi Garozzo

“We never have fun anymore.” “Okay, Moira,” he dismissed me and returned to his book, War and Peace, the one he’d read God knows how many times. Well, I did what anyone would do: I stood in front of the window to block the light, the cold brightness that only a fresh snowfall could produce. He set the worn pages down. “No, seriously. When was the last time we went sledding? Twenty years ago?” “You want to go sledding?” “We’re only sixty, for God’s sake. We’re young! It shouldn’t be that weird!” When he finally agreed, my young husband peeked through: the one that enjoyed himself, not the workaholic shell of a man. I kissed him, and his lips felt light as air against mine, as if he wasn’t even there. Before the high of his touch wore off, we arrived at Cherry Hill. To my dismay, the tree we’d shared our first kiss under was gone. I led the way up; maybe he wasn’t as excited as before to get to the top, or maybe the weight of his sled dragged him down. His staggered breath pierced the silence, yet I couldn’t see him. I was alone. “Cal!” The wind howled, empty. Oh, I could have combusted. “Cal! We’re almost there!” But he had already disappeared.

The cold air wrapped its hands around my neck and squeezed. The snow slapped my face as I collapsed. On the wind, I heard his faint words. His presence embraced me; I celebrated him. I celebrated our love, the love that refused the limits of biology. And I celebrated me, someone so fortunate to feel a love like his. Now, every now and then, he visits me, and the familiar taste of his lips returns. But these visions only go so far. I digress.