I always told her she had a face like December
I never liked to call her pale
because it always brought forth a sickly image
and I never called it milky, creamy, or alabaster
because none of them seemed quite right
and one day while I was watching her from across the room
I thought about all those people who paint their faces white
it looked fine as a novelty
but they wanted to wear it all the time
it saddened me that they were so afraid to be themselves
then I wondered how many might envy her
it was a white no paint could match
I always told her she had a face like December
it had never snowed that month until I met her
she loved when it snowed
we both liked the rain
but she was always happiest when it snowed
and I was always happiest when she was happy
she once said every snowflake was a sprinkle of joy
then we both laughed at how utterly corny it sounded
and we vowed to never speak of the phrase again
but we both believed it to be no less true
though her face often reminded me of snow
she did not have a face quite the color of snow
I always told her she had a face like December
the month had become something different after I met her
it began to hold the promise of something new to come
it was the joy of being and the anticipation of becoming
her face was a beautiful whiteness that nothing else could be
but when I looked at her face
I saw tomorrow as a new day
I felt the joy of being with her
and we felt the anticipation of becoming something more
together
I once told her about what everything meant to me
and then I told her for the first time
that she has a face like December
right before she fell to me in a hug
I saw almost a tear in her eye
her loving it so much made me so happy
after so long the memory still makes me smile
I didn't doubt that she would have wanted it on her stone
it happened in December
and that was the last day it ever snowed
now it just rains
and now tomorrow just has to be another day
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