It’s the first day of winter when he finally tells her that he loves her.
Rusted, golden leaves are just begging to fall; the sky a spider-web spun grey.
He meets her in front of a window that’s spit with snow, with a necklace in his pocket and his heart like a loaded gun. There are so many things he wants to say.
But he keeps it at this, runs his thumb along the knife-edge of her jaw and comes away with blood, “You -” the words catch their feet on his teeth.
“You’re the only one.”