Credence

by Penelope Douglas

She needs a lot, and all of them are things you can’t buy. She needs to laugh and get drunk. She needs to be tickled and cuddled and carried and teased. I don’t want to see her cry, but if she does, I want her to know there’s comfort.

Snowfall isn’t like rainfall. Rain is passion. It’s a scream. It’s my hair sticking to my face as I wrap my arms around him. It’s spontaneous, and it’s loud. Snowfall is like a secret. It’s whispers and firelight and searching for his warmth between the sheets at two a.m. when the rest of the house is asleep. It’s holding him tightly and loving him slowly.

I want to be outside, he goes on. I want to be in a tree. I want to be wet. I want to be on the forest floor as the rain hits the leaves above. I like that sound.