Cupid Doesn't Believe In Love (On hold)

A bell’s chime sounds out into the quiet world, signaling the start of my fight. Only I’m not fighting someone, it's a battle against the February winter. I step out into the cold, breath fanning in front of me in a frosty puff. Teeth clattering like a dropped plastic cup from the drastic temperature change. I'm hit by an arctic blast of air that laps at my reddening cheeks, icy pins speckle across my skin like freckles. A shudder convulses through my body as the freezing air sneaks its way beneath the hemline of my coat. Reaching up, I secure my scarf over my nose to ward off some of the cold.

To generate warmth, I bounce on my toes, rummaging around my purse for the keys to Little Bud's. Shoving aside loads of unnecessary stuff that's found permanent residence in my bag over the years.

Aha, there they are!

Fumbling, I tried to insert the key into the lock with my gloved hand. The other keys on my ring clank against the metal plate on the door. Finally, after some trial and error, I fit the key into the jagged slot. The deadbolt engages with a snick, and after one last reassuring wiggle of the doorknob, I leave.

My neighboring shop owner’s lips tighten with concern when she sees me pass by. When she gestures for me to come inside, I smile reassuringly, mouthing that I'm fine to diminish her worries.

A chilly gust of wind sweeps over me when I round the corner of our shops and strands of hair lift off my numbing cheeks. My arms tighten around myself as I follow the wall of English ivy that climbs the side wall of the cute, little brick building. The cold bit at me. Burrowing deeper into my scarf, I hurried on, dreaming of a comforting cup of hot chocolate.

I crossed the street toward the park; there's a shortcut through here to Lou's diner. You just have to trudge through some bushes, but they'll create a nice wind block.

So it's worth it.

My feet crunch into yesterday's fallen snow, leaving a trail of foot indentations behind me, and I hum a cheery tune into the fabric of my scarf. My eyes drift from the path in front of me, traveling over to the dormant mulberry that I harvest sweet berries from in the spring. A fond smile twists my lips as I think of all the memories my grandmother and I created next to that tree.

The first true shift in the weather from freezing to pleasant, we used to find ourselves sprawled across a checkered blanket beneath budding leaves. Our gaze would trail over the sky, seeking the funniest cloud shapes, or ones that were heart-shaped.

She used to say that if you found a heart-shaped cloud on Valentine's Day, you'd meet your soulmate.

I never believed her.

I thought it was wistful thinking of a helpless romantic who hadn't found the right person to spend the rest of her life with.

She dreamed of different men riding in on a white horse, or maybe driving some fancy car to come sweep her off her feet.

It was her wish upon every shooting star.

Coin in a fountain, and birthday candles to be carted off to her make-believe forever.

I found her daydreaming about those make believe men more times than I can remember.

To this day, it's a wistful thought-that despite how far-fetched it seems-lives on in my heart. It's heartwarming to think that a heart found in the clouds could lead to you finding the other half of your soul.

It's comforting, knowing that there's someone out there who could understand you completely. It makes me feel a little less lonely.

Especially since the passing of my grandmother.