The Warmth

I am a friend to warmth. Summer months of heat that droops my eyelids and sends me into a world beyond my own. Nights by the fire wrapped in blankets to escape the enemy of cold. Warmth of burning under my feet, the beach, my first home. The sun high above drying my tears, burning away the sorrow. The warmth of the summer rain that sets me free, the warmth of the breezes that laugh softly along with me. The kindness, the compassion that melts away defenses and false truths. Independence, burning like fire within. The warmth and heat in my veins, striving for something just out of reach, driving me onward, comforting me in defeat. I long for it in the dull, lifeless months of winter, waiting for the thaw. Where is life now? Now as I try to regain it by the flickering embers. It will die, and where will I be? Cold and alone without the bright vibrance of the sparkling sun or dancing flames that rekindle my hopes and dreams. Icy, freezing and desolate without it. Maybe if I go on it will come back...yet what if it doesn’t? What if the indifference and cruelty remain with me, out of reach of the thawing warmth? The fear of this, of remaining with the mask plastered hopelessly to my face, pulses maniacally, taunting and laughing. When will I be me again?