Out Loud

Prologue

I want to scream out loud that I love you—

The air is cold today. It's October. Usually there would still be warmth lingering, particles of sunlight broken and drifting, suddenly bereft of home. There should be a touch of humidity, making the leaves droop and curl at the edges; making laundry dry too slowly; making my hair, carefully fixed every morning, bangs straightened and styled, go limp at the merest touch of water in the air.

I want to tell you not to go...

But it's cold today. Winter's coming early, there's a chill in the air, a threat against Autumn. The leaves won't turn at all, it says. It's the death of summer, and suddenly cold and snow will be upon you, swallowing the brilliant tree-lights of Fall, the cooling winds and jewel-bright days. The blood red leaves that attract tourists, the golden, star-like fingers reaching from thin branches, will vanish before they can be enjoyed.

If I could scream out loud that I love you—

Winter comes, death creeps suddenly close. No Autumn this year. Maybe there won't even be a Spring. Only sudden cold, and the leaves will all plummet abruptly, no graceful twist and dance and fall, but cool detachment. A sudden change, where the sun sinks early and the shadows stretch long, and it seems like only yesterday that it was still light out on the long walk home.

The sun is close to setting now, with lukewarm distance and chill, bright shine. Light filters through the trees lining the road, dazzling and cold. Everything is washed in orange-gold fire, and I'm squinting into the light as I watch you go. You're probably wearing your sunglasses against the glare.

I'm squinting against the brightness, eyes starting to tear from the pain, but I can't seem to look away. With my eyes squeezed almost shut, there's a moment where a radiant aura surrounds you, like a cloud or arms or wings about to embrace you, envelope you, snatch you into the light.

But you just keep walking away.