Cold

As part of a poetic series, ‘Frostbite”.

Photo by mike mcgrath on Unsplash

I lost myself in the winter.

I lost the old me, and now I carry the one I swore not to become.

I didn’t even know who I was anymore. Who was I?

My jaw was locked tight, and I was gripping my teeth. Don’t you dare cry. You don’t deserve to cry.

Don’t cry.

Slow, cold, pathetic tears streamed down my face as my nails dug into my palms inside of my sweater pockets and the knot in my throat was getting tighter and tighter with every passing step I’d take.

Where was I again?

I was walking with the flow of people next to tall, grand buildings. Faintly, car horns and police sirens were heard.

Choked up, sobs threatened to spill out of my mouth leaving a trail of vapor escape from my lips.

The air was thick and cold, so so cold.

Stop crying.

I was struggling to breath, but everyone walking beside me seemed to be fine.

Short staggered breaths escaped my slightly open mouth as I continued to walk down the street.

My apartment complex came into view, and I think it was around that time that I ran in a full sprint home, feeling the cold tears trail to the sides of my face.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry to you but mostly I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself.

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