Gingerly moving ahead, she wrestled off her jacket and scarf before throwing them over the duck legs sticking out of the ice. Looking up at me, it seemed as if she was seeking some sense of approval, and although I couldn’t take away her pain, I gave her a nod of the head which caused the corners of her mouth to curl into a sullen smile. It’s not lost on me that they were eaten alive by foxes and that one day, many years in the future, I would find myself writing a novel about a guy who just so happened to turn into one himself. Could be a coincidence. I’m the only one who could know, but I’m not much sure of anything, let alone the possible strange workings of fate. This moment I find myself in; it could be future, and it could be past. Most times I can figure out a way of knowing, but as I tilt my head and lose myself in the constellations that twinkle from afar, I’ve no clue as to where the fuck I am at all, but the moment’s full of wonder, and that’s all I could ask for. Shaking from the cold, she gives me those panda eyes, and although it bums me out to think how distant we will one day become, that we ever loved at all is a gift that keeps giving. It would take years of confusion, but after being lost for so long, there would finally come a day when I learnt how to channel the magic of these events into words. Even the mystery of her smile. Such a thing doesn’t erase the pain of being alone, nor does it scrub away the regrets that accumulate like the rings within a tree, but to put into words and preserve that which makes my heart beat outside my chest is the gift I cherish above all else.