iced

A soft frost covers everything at first, thin powder that stretches across the surface of her life. It collects like frozen dust on layers that have gone unused and she thinks she’ll never feel warm again.

Each day the frost gets thicker. Whispery puffs become thick ice crystals that crack and splinter and fall to the floor noisily, taking pieces of her life with them. She steps on them without care, crunching memories under her feet, kicking slivers of her heart under the couch.

She speaks softly, her words hanging in the air like smoke.

I’ll never be warm again.