It's Not Warm

It’s not warm.  “We’re not very warm people, but I like our friendship.”  Our friendship is in town.  We went pulling weeds on an optimistic property.  On this property nature must be kept out so that nature can thrive.  Our friendship’s mother took us out for lunch.  Obnoxious comments--mine.  Feet under the table in socks still stewed in the cold, wet morning.  I laugh too hard like hail at jokes and other utterances.  The mother’s uncertain glares.  Try not laughing while they wax romantically of The Native Americans’ sustainable respect for animals killed, the wax hotly dripped like fondue.  Our friendship managed through cryogenics.

Her icy facebook blue: “it can be hard to let go of the dreams I have invested so much into... but it is good to come up with new dreams to persue.”  But I will ask enthusiastically what are these new dreams I’m so curious.  There is a difference between enthusiasm and warmth.  Gone the hot giddiness of “you know. i like you” (the full stop is important), yet I still deafly aspire.  Pulling up weeds optimistically from cold puddles, pretending weeds are not inevitable.  The land so maintained so beautiful.  Kept from thawing.  Keep the old warmth from the new warmth, don’t let it go.