LI. High School Musical

The Little Martian smiles at me over his horn-rimmed glasses.

Little sparkly rings glitter on his fingers

“What? “

The Martian reads my texts, notes the cosy, the ‘cup of coffee’ analogies, ‘the tired of ho ing’ phrases, and laughs.

“It's okay “

“Ya ya I know, wait for the right time, trust the universe yada yada yada, the path of least resistance, surrender is inevitable …. I know.”

“No, not that”, responds my little Martian

He looks like the drama teacher from high school musical, I'm not sure what he's been up to in my absence

“It's okay, it's just for a little while longer. “

“What is? ‘

“The cold. “

“ Hm..”

I have no energy to expound on that statement, no witty dialogue, no playful banter, no flirtatious phrasing left in my frigid head

“It's only 12 degrees, it's not even that cold. “ I tell the Little Martian, reassuring him as a front to reassure myself.

“I wasn’t talking about that cold.” says the Little Martian with a lilting yawn.

His sleepy eyes melt into a cosy nap, as he seems to retreat within himself to stay warm.

Like a baby bear in the frosty Antarctic, he snuggles lower into his velvet throw and drifts off.

I adjust the pillow beneath his head, take a sip of coffee, wash it down with some water so I don’t kill myself with all this caffeine and I continue reading.

The wind picks up outside and my fairy lights frame my foggy window like little fireflies in the November night.

They seem to light the window, highlighting its angular edges, illuminating its presence, like an SOS signal on a marooned island.

My island is cold, incase I hadn’t mentioned that before.

My island is cold and barren, littered with coffee cups and pudding, flanked by empty eyes and wide smiles.

My island is silent sometimes until I break the silence like an egg yolk on a frying pan, with drunken chortles, wheezy laughter, and rickety pub tunes.

My island is beautiful as it awaits Christmas, and I, as I await home