Recently, someone asked me, “Why do you write about love so much?”

I responded, “Why are you alive?”

They looked at me like I had seven heads, but even if I had three days, I couldn’t pick a better response. Chew on that for a while, I thought. There’s plenty of meat there for you. Enough to keep you fed for a week. Maybe a lifetime, I can only hope.

You want me to spell it out for you?…

With a scarf still wrapped around my neck, I blow into my hands, then rub them together hoping to see a flame. Just a glance at the wet coat next to me shoots a chill down to my toes. The smell of bacon wafts through the air, pacing the snow that continues to flurry outside. Each time the scent lands on my upper lip, I inhale, and my toes warm a bit.

Snowflakes land on the window. Some dissolve, others melt and race down to join the slush on the sill. Voices chatter as the kitchen door swings open, but fade out of resonance when the door closes. The creaky hinges resound in the background, sending another icey wave through my body…