On Moving On and Skiing

It's been years since I've felt like this
Since the cold embrace of infatuation filled my cynical heart
The mountain would have been kind to me
No, not kind
You are not kind
You are rude
And quietly cruel
But I liked that.
You were different.
You spoke your mind,
Your humor matched that cold tone.

You told me that we should go skiing together
We were to be bundled together in the cold,
Sipping shitty coffee in an overcrowded lodge
While we watched kids fall on the ice,
Their parents rushing to help them.
We were supposed to laugh,
To get up and ride the chairlift again,
Before you watched me fall like those children,
Helping me up with a warmth greater than that of the fire inside.

But no.
It was nothing but a friendly offer,
One that doesn't even stand.
My months of planning crumbled with a single text,
A simple
"I'm talking to someone."
In a way,
I wish I'd told you how I felt
Before I knew, even if the outcome wouldn't change.
Then, I wouldn't feel guilty,
Insufferable,
Burdensome,
Tiring,
All the more, all the merrier.

Maybe I was born for this cycle;
This like to like to love,
Before being cruelly interjected with those kind words of friendship.
I'll go to the mountain,
To the resort.
I'll ski by myself, the cold wind biting my face.
The tears will freeze to my pink skin
Like a frozen, ugly chicken.
Maybe I'll hurdle myself off the hilltops,
Crashing into the trees below.
I'll consider it, sure,
But I'll just make my way back down to the bunny slope,
Before getting on that tired lift again.