There Was Always You
The movie will probably make all this useless. But- it’s fun to dream.
The door was shut, as doors should be,
Before you went to bed last night;
Yet Jack Frost has got in, you see,
And left your window silver white.
There is a boy. (There is always a boy.) He is tall, and skinny- perhaps he had parents once, a long time ago, but they’re gone now, long gone. He has white hair, like the snow, and blue eyes, like the oldest ice, black eyebrows- his face is a pleasing arrangement of features. He wears the cool blues of twilight- dark washed jeans gone frayed and jagged at the ends with accumulated ice, blackish brown in the light; a sweatshirt rimed with cool white coldness. No shoes- he doesn’t need them; his feet are cool waxy pale- toenails the softest purple. He is pale, pale like a cloud, pale like bleached paraffin wax- just enough pink in his features to remind you that, yes, he is alive. (He lets just enough emotion show to remind you that, yes, he is alive.)
He must have waited till you slept;
And not a single word he spoke,
But penciled over the panes and crept
Away again before you woke.
He makes the ices grow, makes the cold burning frost lick over grow thick over water and trees and ices windows like ferns, like the empty color of wind. He carries a wooden crook- it allows him flight, and ice, and magic… it is his. He wants- well, he’s not exactly… real, you know? Not really human… not really a Guardian- an anthropomorphic personification. “Jack Frost.” Cold sharp blue magic flashing out in waves; practical jokes all over everywhere- bad boy bad boy, what’cha gonna do? (He wants someone to believe in him- no one believes in him; no, not even himself, not even himself.)
And now you cannot see the hills
Nor fields that stretch beyond the lane;
But there are fairer things than these
His fingers traced on every pane.
O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heart,
rend it to tatters.
There is a girl. (There is always a girl.) She is tall, weighty- strong, healthful; she had parents; Mother Earth and Father Sky, raised her up and let her go out into the world, on her own- and she’s okay, truly, she’s okay on her own. (She’s alone.) She has black-green hair spinning vines of life out of her head, black eyes coal dark; her face is a pleasing arrangement of features. She wears a pair of scruffy grey shorts- a little too short for anything other than a hot summer’s day; shirt made out of white fabric, ash white- too loose on her body for anything other than a day at the beach, swirling around her body; sandals- thick on the bottom, knob between her toes, just the knob between her two front toes thick wide- heat off of her body, so hot. She is pale brown fade to black- sun-scorched; sun warmed, a golden sunrise wrapped- skirt-like around her waist, warm on her shoulders- soft. (Going away gift from her parents- too much for when she got it, but she couldn’t refuse it either…)
Fruit cannot drop
through this thick air--
fruit cannot fall into heat
that presses up and blunts
the points of pears
and rounds the grapes.
She makes the flowers grow- makes the coldest of the snow grow thin, and melt away into nothing. Make the sunrise bright and clear, makes the trees grow so tall, so tall they touch the sky in places- she heard her father laughing about it, she did. She wears her sunrise wrap like a cloak- or a cape, or a poncho, so thin and warm; just enough fabric to cover her to her ankles, a rope wrapped around her waist so soft. Her powers come from that rope around her waist- she made it herself, long time ago; can do almost anything with it. She wants- she wants someone other than her parents, and herself to know her name- it’s Kukua Tamu. “Kukua Tamu.” Warm soft flashes of gold- and she’s shy, gone too fast for anyone to see her- she hopes. (She wants to be- she doesn’t even want to be believed in; she wants, more than anything, to be noticed.)
Oh gently tear the heat away;
Let the stars shine down on the
Me that has no bearing on the
Cold night nor the warm dawn.
They met once a long time ago- cold meets hot, thunderstorm whirling out- eyes that met across screaming winds. (Eyes always meet across a crowded space- blue met black.) A spark of lighting- a spark of attraction. Warmth in winter- cold in summer.
The springtime of Lovers has come,
that this dust bowl may become a garden;
the proclamation of heaven has come,
that the bird of the soul may rise in flight.
The sea becomes full of pearls,
the salt marsh becomes sweet as kauthar,
the stone becomes a ruby from the mine,
the body becomes wholly soul.
A sunrise shaped like a girl- that’s what Jack thinks he saw the other day. (She’s beautiful.) He only saw her once, in passing- stared at the beautiful girl over there making the flowers bloom so brightly, and her hair was green and flowing down her back like vines, flowers blooming around her under her hands her feet so black with dirt; sweet faced girl with a golden cloak falling down her back so warm- He wants to see her again, but… he doesn’t want to see her again. What if he made it up? (He was half-sleep hungry-crazy, when he saw her.) But. He wants to see her again- so he chases her, across the world, winter chasing spring, like so.
He catches her- flirts and teases, whisper soft. Warm face behind vines looks into cold face made of ice- blue meets black. He leans forwards (too fast) and kisses her- she kisses him back (she likes him too)-
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
She saw a cloud-boy the other day- saw him darting past her once so sharp and cold. (He’s beautiful.) Saw- hair so soft and white, eyes like the sky so sharp slicing cold, skin so pale and cold- Did she dream him? Was she going crazy now?
I cannot grow ice.
She makes a new kind of flower- something small, something shy, like her; it grows at the very end of winter, blooms up through the cold snow. Small little blooms- a variation on Irises; bright yellows, and soft pale blues, rich purples- all this took time, but. But. She is good at taking time. “Crocuses.” That’s what she calls them- someone human must have heard her, because the name stuck.
He follows her flowers- follows her through the snow. He finds her, finds her and kisses her so soft and sweet- lips lead on as lips do. (Too soon.)
Bodies intertwining in a glade somewhere- cold hands over round hips, one stroking up between her shoulders, the other curving down over warmer flesh- her hot hands warm on him, stroking his body so warm to her touch, finger-tips sharp in his hair; the other at the small of his back so warm- lips slick against her neck, tongue tracing cold lines across her chest down her breast jerks away ‘too soon’- neck bitten once so sharp- “Ah!” and cold teeth flashing white. Laughter.
Red pink lips warm pout; Cool teeth smile back- Warm mouth on cold neck- he smells her warm earth wet body smell- she smells him, cold ice smell fresh spilt blood on water; cold earlobe in her mouth tongue licking the shell of his ear so much warmer than he ever could be, hot breath smoking down his shirt under his skin so warm hot; “Ah!” Lips pressing into his, so soft- cold lips pressing back tongues slick entering mouths so strange slimy warm cold hot frosted-
Bodies fall to crunchy grass- stick crook frozen to the ground, rope winding round like a snake- her hips over his, long legs twisting together his hers his hers; breasts against chest warm nose in cold throat sniff sniff sniff- blood smell fresh spilt blood on ice, his cold sweat on her warm skin melting melting warm so warm…
His frozen hoodie off over his head- her shirt falling off one shoulder, wrap pooling sliding down her warm hips around her ankles kicked away- an undershirt, pale grey falls- slides to where her shorts shoes are- slim black panties, cold fingers along her ribcage, warm touches on his spine; a yipping like a small dog asleep and dreaming from his throat so cute… her bra slender wrapping black and burnt on bandage- like cold finger tugs her bra away off her body so warm skin his skin is soft and cool to her touch but warming where she strokes him warm mouth kissing his chest down down down “Mmm-hiiink” across him, low sweet cold very cold, licking his belly-button with her mouth so warm. He shudders, face a complicated mess- black eyebrows quirking lips quivering nose scrunching eyes so blue- fingers tugging away her thin panties his pants sliding off his legs.
They are naked now- naked together, which is new and strange and frightening; they stare at each other, eyes meeting in warm and cold (blue meets black); lips meeting kissing licking- so strange to be touching this way, so cold and warm- her green vine hair is tented around his head, cold puffs of mist shufting out of his mouth cool on her face- breath smells of ginger and sugar and sweet well water sun warmed bricks and bonfires; she kisses him again, less desperate- they have time.
Cool hands over warm skin, gently touching feeling- legs tangle roll bodies over pressing her into the ground- feels his swollen body against hers pressing thrusting warm to cold… Crocus through snow. Cold hands gone warm with pleasure and slowly stroking her body so warm- minutes or hours and kissing, vines on the ground the smell of fresh grass and flowers, and her gently heaving chest bouncing in the light his cool mouth on her body so warm and she’s gasping still afraid but not so badly that she’ll run- arms wrapping around his shoulders she’s got to hold on to something while he presses himself into her she rocks her hips into him so sweet. A delicious pressure against her center- warm shunting through her arms coiling around his shoulders pulling her up and tight and biting him much less nicely than he did her- “AH!” together and he’s breaking breaking breaking broken oh god he’s shattering inside her.
Tangle of limp bodies in the warm sun, cuddled on the cool earth so tired, but the good kind of tired (hungry too); warm arms around a cold chest. ‘I want to stay here.’ They fall asleep together, but She’s gone when He wakes- her clothing, her rope; the only thing left behind is… well, the glade they were in was full of grass and rocks, not Crocuses and Snow. (Too soon; she ran because it was too soon, and too fast for her to handle.)
Strange that. (Not really.)
He never did forget that day with her- he hid it inside his heart, so small in its little box- so.
I can’t freeze a sunrise.
Jack Frost can’t make flowers bloom- he can’t make plants grow. (He can kill them; make them sleep.) He has to be slow, and patient- neither of which he likes to do- But. He came as close as he ever would to freezing a sunrise- leaves gone fiery red, sunbright yellow, purple as mountains might be, oranges so many and bright- a mountain gone to cold and sweet-smelling flames.
Maybe she’ll remember me.
When Pitch came after him- tried to kill him; sent his night-dark things after her, stole her away. Locked her in a small box cage- no Spring, oh no oh no- he…
(Screamed with rage- flickered forwards, long body an arc in the night air, like a blade coming for your face sharp fast angry cold bright burning cold bright slash of metal screaming bright. Crook held low to the ground hook the other way smooth side in his ribs- ice growing everywhere but Pitch he’s breaking breaking bones and muscles ripping blood coming out of his mouth Jack is still screaming yelling beat beating Pitch- beating his bloody bones to small sized pieces.
The cage too small for her to stand up in, too small for her to lay down in- too small too small; painful small. The frost has frozen her cage- a swift kick and it shatters like the ice it’s covered in.)
Later, when he comes back to himself- when he feels her snake strong arms, her rope tying him up, wrapped around him from behind, holding him back away from the blood streaked mess of Pitch’s shaking body- he will feel a shiver of fear for what he almost did. Jack Frost is not so nice, it seems. (A prankster- a jokester. Not a fool.)
“So… I-I feel a bit silly for asking this now but- what’s your name? I mean, my name is Kukua Tamu- so what’s yours?”
“…My name is Jack Frost…”
“It’s nice to meet you, Jack Frost. Do you think I can untie you yet?”
“…better not…”
“Okay. So… How have you been?”
“…Been better. You?”
“I’m… I’m okay. I- I like what you did with the tree leaves, though… Th-that was you, right?”
“Y-yeah!” His voice squeaks. “Yeah, um, that- that was me. You really- you really like them, Kukua?”
“Yeah. Y-yeah, Jack- I like them a lot.” (He’s blushing.)
“…mgldifyf…”
“Hmm?”
“I’m glad I followed your flowers.”
“You saw those?”
(Jack nods. Kukua blushes.)
“Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad too.” (He smiles through his blush.)