#winterboyfriend

I recently saw that a friend of mine had shared a link to a blog post from thehairpin.com entitled "The "Winter Boyfriend."" It was a response to a post from marieclarie, or whatever her name is, who had written a blog about the elusive 'winter boyfriend.' If you don't know, as if know one knows..., a winter boyfriend is someone that you date specifically during the hard, cold winter months. Someone to order in and watch dvd's of Curb Your Enthusiasm with. More or less, a being whose mere purpose is to keep a girl company when the winter becomes to much to bare and the thought of going outside causes you to instinctively be submerged in a warm bath with candles and a copy of Twilight, which you swear isn't yours, before you even knew what happened. 

The thehairpin.com post declared this mythical 4 ft. tall man as one who keeps you secluded in your room, only leaving briefly to ghostly shuffle around your house, and the idea to where, and even if he urinates, is unknown. All of this continues through the winter months, until spring arrives and we open our windows, which through the stale air of our apartment and the elusive "winter boyfriend" escape through. As I continued reading and thinking about the girls I've dated during the winter months, it slowly crept through my mind. I tried to push it back down. Deep, very deep, but there was nothing I could do, I could not subdue the point that I... I am a "winter boyfriend." 

Not only am I a "winter boyfriend," I am a seasonal boyfriend. Throughout almost all of my post high school relationships, so goes the season, so goes me.

In the winter months I walk to your house as the snow falls but only showing beneath the street lights. My knitted hat and my boots melt off as I enter your house and make way up the creaky hardwood steps to your room. We lay in your bed fully clothed with the lights. Talking and listening to some slow, sullen singer/songwriter while our legs become tangled. Soon we are down to our wool socks and thermal underwear with the lights off. My hair lay flat by way of my hat and the stubble of my 2-week beard brushes your cheek. We wake early as the solstice sun peaks through your window and then to no ones dismay I am gone.

So it goes for each season. Each season it happens, only replacing the snow with the rain, the rain with the sun, and the sun with the leaves. I am a muse of each season. To each girl I was a season.