Oh there’s something, there. There has to be. Otherwise I won’t be going through these shivers, wrapping myself in layer over layer. Maybe I’m waiting for something, some lone voice on this plateau to call out to me. I dare not say a word; I’m afraid I’ll fall in love with my own echo.
Come on, on to me, those past memories. I beg of you, because how hollow, how hollow you can be. Useless ice in the tundra. But your cold breath seeps through my knees. I guess you can’t wait to hear my bones creak. No, please stop, my layers are too thin. They’re nothing but full of holes for your needles and pins.
Love, love warn me! Why did you not warn me of this detriment? But how could the warmth warn me? Maybe when my cheeks tingle too much. Were those the pins of memory? Yes, they might have been. But they were warm, tantalizingly warm. I only go on farther and farther into the fire. Flash your lights, love. But they’d blind me one more time.
For this I shiver, the trembling voice of love, glassy and goloss. A soft beckon, a sharp reprimand, all for me, me! No, it’s none for me, I only think it is. This mix of ought and want, how superfluous. And another time I will reject the flame. And another time I warm my own knees.
I rock out this lonesome existence, huddled close to the beating of my heart, rocking rocking rocking. I’ll light my own fire, and shield myself against the cold. Against the wind that batters against my back. Do I not feel the cold? Of course I still do. They just seep through me a bit lighter, I seep through it a bit emptier.
Across the thousand little ice pellets, does the wind cares which ones it blows? No, but it’s this indifference of the ice, while at the same time its open embrace. Crests and folds cup the wind like flowing caresses. But this is no place for me. The warm breaths have all but gone, frozen mid-air by this flash freeze, drifted down o’er the crust like sparkling flakes of childhood wonder. They landed on my bare skin, my eyelids, and on impact they melted on my face, running down I felt the warmth of her last tears.
It was silence. I stared back at the sky who delivered this, back at the blueness of my illusion. And in this endless depth I couldn’t remind myself of what was real. I just laid there. Waiting. Waiting for the gust of air that can melt the layers of ice on my heart. I breathed out on those crystals, and saw. On those crystals the warmth of my dying breath.