Her legs are crossed at the knees, perfectly compressed as she sits at the other edge of the bench. She is facing me, her lips curled into what I know is her best understanding smile. I cringe at her. I know she saw, but I don't much care. We meet here at least once a week and she folds herself there, clouds of white rolling from her lips whenever she parts them. I always marvel at how they're never chapped, despite the weather. I'm not sure if I want to kiss them or not, though.  She looks smaller in the cold, almost. I have to fish her hand from her pocket now, otherwise the cold bench would be the only thing that minded my touch. Her hands seem smaller as I curl it around mine. She takes the cue, she's good at taking cues, and moves herself closer, a puff of air appearing. She doesn't move much. I look at her again, her eyes harsh in winter's unforgiving clarity. I can see the reddening in her cheeks now. I think about kissing there. I can't. I raise her hand to tug on it lightly. She's good at this part, and moves in. this time, I can see the curls hidden under the warm darkness of her hood. One is tucked halfheartedly behind her ear. I think about pushing it away. I don't. We're not level.

Her eyes are intent on me, lips alternating between pursed and parted as she tries to figure me out. I feel my lips pull into the very phantom of a smile. I don't have the heart to tell her she's hopeless. Another tug on her hand, another small section of the gap closed. It's almost like a dance and I gain a bit of grace each time. It might explain how we end up here every week.

Winter at night is odd. Disorienting. Wonderful. The sky above is pitch black, naked trees reaching desperately and failing for it's endless blanket. Then, there's the snow. It's like being in space. They're everywhere. If you look up and try to look past them, you can feel it swirling behind you, settling in your hair, tickling at your face and hands. And you want to get lost in it all. The park is empty, everything so still that even the snow falling might've ruined it.

He calls me to wake him up. On nights I can't sleep. Sometimes I wonder if we're on two different planets. I try hard to find my way to his, but sometimes I think he just wants to be there himself. And my planet is painfully bare, and empty, except for myself. I cast out stars and moons, but no one ever seems to find it. I can never sleep. I wonder about all the orbits in between us, and everyone  else. Some planets are cold, but happy. Others are beautiful, but bare of any life at all. Others just seem to float along. Happily or unhappily. I wonder what my planet looks like from afar. I like to think it's a nice place to be.

The chill of outside doesn't reach me in my dark room. I sit, silent and still in the dark; I don't want to disturb it, I like it too much. I don't want to look outside. I don't want to look at the darkness. So I do nothing. Sleeping is too hard. It's like winter's frozen  more than just everything outside. Then, from the center of the room, a familiar rumble, and sad blue light.

"Please come wake me up."

He's the only thing that I think I want to focus on. He's not the outside, nor the inside. I can never seem to touch him, but he's everywhere at once. Inescapable. But I don't want to get away. He's the most beautiful mystery ever. The most intriguing, inviting, overwhelming, painful, powerful planet I've ever seen. Am I so wrong for wanting to be there? I don't think so. But nothing ever makes sense in my space. But I think that's the same for him too, which gives me some hope.

It's not as cold as I thought it would feel. I don't feel the coat on my back, the thick scarf draped coyly around my neck. It feels good. I can see the clash of the cold air on my bare hands, my neck and it send sparks of iridescent glass into the air, each shard stinging in just the right way. I'm wired, but it's as if I'm missing one last connection. I know where it is, I just don't know how to fit the piece together. I think it'll take a long time, like all the puzzles I've left undone. But unlike those, I always return to this one. I try this piece. Doesn't fit. Another. Almost but not quite. This puzzle is so silent, so wordless, so pictureless, it's like… trying to find away onto his planet. Hard. Heartbreaking. Confusing.

I curl up on the bench he's sitting at and as I approach, all I can think of it how much I want to brush those white winks of earlier innocence from his hair. But he's much too far away.

I don't think she realizes how much she confuses herself. She always sits far away, but ends up closer. A little closer each time. It's never close enough. I frown at her. She's never close enough. I've done almost everything; pressed every inch of her to myself, pressed my lips to every patch of skin bared. Traced every outline and curve I've discovered in my exploration. It's like mapping something out, something odd but beautiful, something that keeps changing each time. And every time again, my old map is completely wrong or disappeared altogether. But I keep trying. It's like the more I want, the more I try to learn, it's eager to knock out something else I've learned. It's not frustrating. It doesn't make sense; but I think I like it. I like how she doesn't make sense. How she always changes. She's a puzzle that always loses pieces of herself, picks up new ones, hides some, gives away others. They're like  stars - scattered and endless, captivating and innocent, alluring and intriguing. I know that I can't catch all her stars. But I don't want to. I don't think she'd like it very much. I don't want to dim them, but I want them.

I drag a thumb over the knuckles of her captive hand, the rise and dip and rise and dip of the bones endlessly enthralling. I lower my eyes to her hand. I've kissed that expanse. And that knuckle. And that fingertip. So why does it all seem like I've never seen them before? I start over - raising the appendage to very delicately explore, feeling every groove, every rise and dip and rise and dip.

I watch him. He's done this before. He always does it again. I wonder why. It doesn't make sense. The logic part of me tells me it never will, but the greater, irresponsible part devotes its attention to his actions, slowly and dreamily working to figure him out. I don't have the heart to tell myself I'm hopeless. And as time doesn't tick by, our planets move closer and closer. And just close enough that…

I take a gamble. One piece of the puzzle I think might fit.

This is one area I remember. I've been here before. I've been around it. I know I know it, but it always feels different. It's as if if I don't revisit this place the most, I'll forget it. And I don't want to forget this one thing that always stays the same, but changes me.

A piece that fits! A flood rushes through me, from my lips and to the tip of my head. Down my thin arms and itching deliciously at the tips of my fingers. Tickling through my torso. It tingles my legs and to the tips of my toes. I can feel my eyelashes flutter as I'm shocked on the inside. And all I want to do is sleep. Forever, if I can. Because I've found a piece that fits. Perfectly.

I think I remember this place the best. The single place on her body which aligns everything for the quickest moment, in which everything almost clicks and almost make sense. I think I know why this place remains the most familiar.

"I'm awake."