Those aqua eyes painted a picture of her, in his mind. Drowning waves and beach-time sunlight, pushing past him, with salty tears and broken hearts, he comforted her. As time brushed past her bare shoulders, he could see she was learning to spread her wings. With bright smiles, and joy projected in those aqua eyes, he’d been blind. She learned to spread her wings and fly, but they were bound, bound so tight, that it was physically hurting her. Two months later, her name was plastered everywhere, all over newspapers, in articles posted online, even written in big letters, upon posters in his own backyard, where his parents knelt and mourned, their friend’s golden daughter. Day after day, year after year since meeting, he said nothing about his affection.

The words replayed over and over again, as Jack Frost nibbled at his bare arms. ‘‘I was in love with you,’’ he whispered to the lonely headstone.