Love Yourself So No One Has To

I love snow, but not this kind of snow. I like the snow like we got last year during the blizzard. The snow that was up to our knees and there was so much that it couldn't possibly be more than half-tampered and it was everywhere and there was just so much. But this isn't that snow.
You say that the snow isn't beautiful and I remember last year after the storm you said that I was so beautiful, so much like the snow. I remember your face when you said that and the way it looked and how I thought that you were going to kiss me but you didn't.
But you do now. You kiss me but I don't move my lips with yours because I don't feel like you're kissing me but maybe you're kissing the air and I'm just in your way. There is no want here. There is no love like the night we had sex and there is no shyness like our first kiss and there is no urgency like the night we saw Hamlet's Uncle. There is nothing here. I am kissing a dead man.
Not even a zombie. It's like you're six feet under.
You kick at the brownish slop and you talk about how fucking ugly this city is and I can't help but think that it doesn't sound like you. You barely ever swear and when you do you're always happy and you're not the pessimistic type. You say that winter is hell and that nothing good ever happens in winter.
You asked me to date you in winter. You said 'go steady' like we were in the 60s and we were so happy but that was a year ago. Last winter. I think maybe you just forgot and I blow it off but I still get that feeling in my leg, like I'm a cat before a storm, like something bad is going to happen. I sit on the carstopper thing and I wait, because you're not done. You still have more to say.
"I can't do this anymore."
And that's it. I don't question. I just nod. You try to say something else, to give me excuses. Reasons. But I don't need excuses. I already know.
"I can't be with someone who won't let me in," you say as I'm opening the big heavy glass door. My keys fall out of my hand. I cry.
Later on I come outside when my mom is asleep and I throw the Slenderman sculpture I'd been working on at the brick wall that separates me from my room and it shatters so hard. The little head rolls against my foot and I look at it and I say that maybe he isn't so invincible after all. Maybe no one is.