Together

This is the first new year we ring in together.

I thought I'd stayed inside like every other year, just listening to the perpetual fireworks.

Unexpectedly, your text popped up, you asked me to see the first day of new year together. I jumped up and down, laughed. I couldn't move my eyes from the screen, to make sure I was not in a dream.

I put on as many clothes as possible, rushed into the drifting snow at late night. The streets were empty, only snow, me and firework sounds. 

We met at the deep-snow-covered beach. The river was frozen, the border between river and beach was erased. I took off my gloves to make some selfies with you. Two minutes later, I could barely moved my frozen fingers. At the moment I covered my mouth by my hand to warm it up by exhaling some warm air. Your hot palm took my hand, wrapped it into your pocket. We counted down from 10 to 1, then happy new year. We were the only people on the midnight snow field.

The ceaseless snow poured on us, we found a warm log cabin to watch a supposed-to-be-heartening film. I used up all the tissues, you said next year, we should watch the film you recommended. I laughed in tears. I caressed you and said yes.