His name

On New Year's Eve, when the heat of one too many whiskey sours threatened to ignite me from the inside out, I slipped out onto the quiet winter cool of my sister's front porch.

I stood there, letting the chill of the frozen air seep into my clothes, and watched the snow falling softly to the ground through the glow of Christmas lights.

I wondered if I was so hot that I'd actually see steam rising from my body. But I didn't.

So instead, I whispered his name into the night and watched as the cloud of my breath whirled into tiny beads, sweeping the word away from me.

Thomas.

I said it again.

Then I went back inside and continued on.