He Was So Cold

"She's Cold."

Snow falls on my face.

Frost fills my nostrils. Vapour escaping icy as it releases from my body.

So, so cold.

I cannot move my fingers. They're stiff and rigid from the frozen air that surrounds me.

Snow falls- covers me, a white blanket of serenity, the sky grey and hazy. Mittens lost, my mind roams. The bedroom should be pink. I'll paint it and buy new linens, a fresh start for spring that will arrive with the passing of the cold.

The trees cry, their branches sealed in ice that drips from them. Weeping, they cry out. Brisk wind whistles through, cracking the weakest limbs. I watch them fall to the ground effortlessly as life departs. They, too, are shattered.

So cold it is.

His uninvited presence was numbing; now, he has no face. A blackened mirage of hatred I try to erase. I screech to stop, over and over. No one hears. I don't hear myself. My voice disappears into the darkened arctic, falling like the branches of the trees.

How cold is it?

Am I still alive? Wind take his filth. Will the frost cleanse my soul? How do I scrape myself free of wounds he left behind? My heart beats wildly at the thought of him—anxious nausea. I lose my voice. My throat so dry that it swallows my tongue. Escape to the safety of the cold.

Feet frozen. No feeling in extremities.

"She's so bloody cold."