There’s no good time to fall in love, except when you’re young, and stupid, and don’t know any better, and think (mistakenly) that you have nothing to lose. Outside of that, trying to find a good time to fall in love is like scheduling a train wreck. Wise people would demure. If it weren’t for the lack of judgment that goes along with youth (and often maturity as well), our species probably would not survive.

I’m walking in the park, the pond is frozen, my fingers are frozen because I forgot my gloves, the tips of my ears are likely to break in two at any moment like cocktail crackers, and this is an especially poor time to fall in love.

There are children running around like little parka-ed beasts making joyous racket while their smug parents push a stroller with a younger sibling, still in its larval state, and they don’t realize that I’m watching them, because they are so wrapped in their smugness, content that they have found what everyone else seeks, or at least they can project the appearance of having found what everyone seeks, which is apparently a latte, a respectable income, a designer stroller, and a significant other to carp at. I hate those people. I used to be one of those people. I’m sure my single friends secretly hated me too.

Love in Winter. This was another winter, not this godforsaken, glacial,
snow-bound atrocity we’re winding through now. This winter, I am possessed of my senses. I’m not leaving the apartment…

I lie. I am an unreliable narrator, in the extreme. I do leave the apartment. I leave long enough at times to form memories of waking up with coffee at my bedside, and laughter from the kitchen while someone is making breakfast. I leave long enough to break rules, and maybe bruise my own heart, who knows. I leave long enough to take a chance on slipping and falling into a snowbank, or a train wreck, or love.

But today. Not today. Today I’ll leave the danger to the young and the unwise. Today I know better. Today I’m staying in.