The house is silent, with only the crackling of the fireplace and the creaking of the floorboards making any sound. The large room is illuminated by the warm glow of the flames, shifting the shadows about the room in some sort of eccentric yet beautiful dance. The light gracefully reflects off the dark surface of the piano in the corner, bringing it out from the darkness of the room.
I stare out the window, watching the snow slowly descend from the night sky, covering the ground with a white blanket of ice. The lights on the trees poke their way out of their cold prisons, their yellow tinted lights bringing that old-fashioned Christmas feel to my home.
It’s quite beautiful.
I turn around and face the fire, the warm air seeping over me. I close my eyes and smile, my frigid body slowly dissolving into comfort and relaxation.
Her warm body in an embrace with mine, standing in front of the fire, smiling. I hug her close to me, hoping that we’ll never have to let go, that this warmth would be here forever, and that we’ll always love each other.
I open my eyes, and realize-
-I’m only hugging myself.
She’s gone.
I feel icy pangs in my heart, both of sadness and rage. The truth is, nothing lasts forever.
And it hurts to remember that.
With a snarl, I whirl around and retreat to the window. The warmth begins to fade away, replaced with the bitter rigidness of before.
I don’t want to remember the warmth. I want to embrace the cold, the deathly chills that flow around me. My heart is numbed, and I don’t feel its pain anymore. With solitude, I alone stand at the window, and watch the snow fall.
But…
This hurts just as much.
Honestly, I want the warmth. I want to feel, to be happy, to be sad, to love. And I do love people.
I’m just too afraid to show it.
I’m afraid of the icy daggers that tear apart what remains of my heart. This frigid shell that I place for myself ensures safety, that I don’t have to be hurt anymore.
But it sometimes feels like a coffin.
I sit on the couch, staring into the flames. And I ponder.
I wonder if, somewhere in the world, she feels the same. This feeling of being a walking tomb, wishing to feel warmth again. Maybe she was stronger than me, and has already found it.
She… what was her name?
I don’t really remember. I can recall the face, but not the name. Being isolated in this winter of the mind, removing myself from the memories, I have started to forget.
And maybe, that’s for the best.
The fire begins to die down as the logs crumble to ashes. I stare at the dying embers for a moment, watching the orange glows fade into darkness; then stand up and pick up another log.
I don’t really want the warmth gone yet.
I stir up the embers and blow into the growing sparks. They catch on to the new piece of wood, and slowing begin to engulf it with flames.
I sit on the couch and close my eyes once more. I let the icy coffin splinter and fall apart, and smile.
And, in the back of the mind, as I drift to sleep, I ponder:
I wonder how she’s been?
I was digging through my files and found some of my older writings. I wrote this back in 2013; thought I might share it.
**-DarkMaestro**