The Place Under The Trees

You always brought me to the same spot when you wanted to talk. The conversation would mostly consist of minute statements followed by gruelling silence. The cold air would be tense around our ears and lips, as if we knew some killer statement would strike and we would change these words to mean something bad? good? Who knew at this point? You puffed away at your cigarette in the snowy spot we picked as the silence remained. We never did talk that day.