A whisper inside my chest, a pause and closed eyes. I retrace my steps through the glittering snow on a night so damn cold and I am numb. A day of soreness in my soul and I surrender control of these dark thoughts at this hour. Thus, I’ll walk faster at times when my chest picks up pace. My lungs fill with freezing air and I can breathe again today and so I’ll walk alone because when I walk with others it hurts too much. I wage war because my body wants my fears to melt down as tears on my face, but I know what it feels like when they freeze on your cheeks and so I wipe them away before they catch on to me and row me down a river with no end in sight.
This world calls me perceptive, caring, and empathetic, yet no one truly wants to know my fears and thoughts on situations so current and painful that within me there is always snow falling. These dark days swirl around my head and lay me down to sleep—I think the one thought alluding to permanence, maybe the only thing that makes sense. Instead I write down my experience so that I don’t carry it with me but when I am here sitting alone, I remember all of those days in which the snow fell across my eyes so perfectly. I wonder what I’ll look like this time when I put the pieces back together.