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Novelo Rectangle

The frozen lake cracked beneath his feet.The last glint of summer sun held the last trace of evidence that it once ebbed and flowed, but it solidified as all plunged into darkness, a heart frozen in time, killing more than it ever knew it had, barring entry to anything that sought an entrance.An audience, it will give. A ballet on pointe, perhaps, soft and delicate, a dance without a mark. A casual laugh, a shaking of hands, a conversation of hi and then bye. The frozen lake remained pristine and untouched. But one day, in came a man demanding a nice long stroll. A high tea of three-tiered snacks, scones, sandwiches and dainty little tea cups hooked between fingers. A night of board games, wine glass in hand, swishing liquid around the rims. Or perhaps in the cinema, overpriced corn kernels mixed with mass produced butter, squished in seats one can only hope was clean, his hand somehow finding its way over hers.Somewhere, someday, in a winter frozen grey.&nbsp;The frozen lake cracked beneath his feet. A flash of smile.He did not know what he had done.But he walked on, despite the looming threat he incurred, extending another smile, his shoulder warm against hers, as if asking her, taunting her. What’s the worst you can do? What if the worst you can do is what I yearn for?The frozen lake cracked beneath his feet. The lake frozen in time, did not, in fact, exist as long as time. Everything has a history, a reason.&nbsp;For the frozen lake, it was a love. A love that started like a knife to her throat, unexpected and spontaneous, pointed straight at her and only her, with so much passion that it threatened to spill red.The frozen lake was, you see, once a spluttering volcano. How they met was burned into her mind, down to every minor detail, every minuscule moment. His hair, a swept back brown hue, glinting blond under the fluorescent lights. His left hand, casually tucked in his pocket, a silver watch peaking out. His right hand, pinching the wine glass, his bright blue eyes reflecting the soft golden glow of the champagne. Then the soft golden glow shifted and dimmed, and there in those blue eyes was her.&nbsp;It was as if everything in her life happened for this moment. As if the rest of the relationship happened for this single instant, this single night. The whole for the beginning, because they believed that this instant could last forever. They shared too much for it to be a coincidence. It had to be fate, she thought, when their eyes met, and they took a step towards each other on the same beat. He was her fated firework in the foggy and crowded blankness of everything. They were two puzzle pieces amidst trillions that somehow fit right together. That night, their lips eventually grew bored of talking, and found themselves parting slightly, inching closer to press against each other. Then somehow, the next thing she knew, her red lipstick was smeared over his body. She woke up the next day, certain that her life would include another person from now on. And it did, until even the beginning was unable to sustain the whole.They could not seem to spend an outing together without a fight, without him storming off or her shouting at him.They could not seem to hold a conducive conversation, a conversation that did not end with him saying , ‘What more can I give?’.Until one day, these conversations deteriorated into shouting matches of blatant distrust, with her demanding to check his phone to ‘prove his innocence’.Until one day, she would angrily ask “Where are you going?” while knowing all along that the answer would be “None of your business.”Until one day, it became the norm for her to smash a glass in rage and frustration and him to slam the door in her face as a response after none of his excuses calmed her down, disappearing for hours on end.Until one day, she realised that she was more stressed about his whereabouts than happy being together with him.Until one day, he came in and told her, "We cannot continue on like this." A volcano can be mesmerising, erupting in an array of geysers, lava, ash and tephra. But above all, it is explosive, and undeniably deadly. The lava, racing molten rock, constantly nagging at the heels. The ash plume, encompassing and suffocating, coating everything too heavily with its presence.Her love, she realised, was of lava and ash.So when she nodded, resigned in agreement, she sent a frost that froze it into a block of frozen lake. She did not remember quite exactly how she met him. Its importance seemed to pale in comparison with his simple continuing existence afterwards. Nothing much. Just him. Even in his grand gestures, it was for him that she cracked. And when she realised he was there, how permanent his reassuring presence had become, it was too late.&nbsp;Somewhere, someday, since a place and time unknown, she could not seem to find it in herself to guard him from the frozen lake, to push him away, to preserve his heart and hers.Maybe it was that day of pouring summer rain, when he stood there with a spare umbrella, and one look at him, she knew that his first thought when he saw the rain was of her.Maybe it was how he always seemed to remember when she was in a desperate need of a heat pad, and after that, she would always find a cup of hot chocolate on the table, filled to the brim with whipped cream and marshmallows.Maybe it was how when they were engaged in an activity, of his suggestion or not, all of him would be present.Maybe it was how he talked to her about his concerns openly without a hint of sarcasm aimed at her.Sometimes, the mind undergoes mysterious rewirings and goes on to make the most illogical decisions.Even with the molten rock within her that threatened to escape its frost, with the corpse of her last relationship lying there as the clearest reminder, she was too selfish to untangle herself from him. So he walked on, the frozen lake cracking with each step, and with each step, she tried.She tried to smooth the edges of each crack he made, so when he walked, he would not bleed because of her.A smile, a steaming hot cup of coffee on a winter morning, a bundle of flowers from the friendly botanist. Holding his hand and letting go with trust that nothing would happen. Learning to sit down on a cozy sofa, communicating to bridge the gap between minds that inevitably occur between two people that not even fated ones could circumvent.She tried, and he continued walking. He walked until the frozen ice was permeated with cracks, creaks and crevices, decorating each and every inch.&nbsp;Walked until it finally shattered, thousands of pieces all at once,&nbsp;glittering, shimmering, a rain of iridescent droplets, torn through rather than thawed.And down he crashed in, cradling the shards as they fell on him, plummeting along with all the flowers he managed to plant on that frozen block of ice.Somehow, without her knowledge, the barren surface of the frozen lake started to develop pops of colour.Within each crack, each creak, each crevice, there was some of him. Leaving her there, with her flowing lake of a heart, futilely grasping for the piercing shards before they touched his flowers, his lake, him. But a piece brushed against the back of her hand, and finally she noticed their distinctly smoothed edges, like shiny pebbles rounded off by abrasion, impaling nothing but illuminating everything.And there he was, floating on the lake, among the flowers he had nurtured, thriving as the lake bloomed with life. Floating lilies, swimming fishes, a card, a cuddly cup of tea, a bowl of autumnal warm soup, hugging words, a light kiss on the lips.Everything that he managed to plant on that frozen block of ice.The frozen lake cracked beneath his feet, and turned a summer lake’s embrace.

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A Summer Lake’s Embrace

Icyice055

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A Summer Lake’s Embrace

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Winifred

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