I wasn’t there
when you spilled your pain like holy wine,
offering yourself to silence,
but the silence did not take you.

You did not fall-
not into the dark abyss,
but back into light,
a reluctant resurrection.

It’s usually said
That your fingers go numb first.
That the cold gets to your hands even through layers upon layers of thick cloth that are meant to protect it.
That you can’t tightly grab onto a lifeline when you freeze to death,
Unlike how you would in any other near-death scenario.

Next is your toes,
Your feet follow your hands, losing the feeling in them.
It’s funny, in the way that one of the first things you learn in life is to crawl and walk,
And when you’re on your knees in front of death, you lose the ability to do so.

The next to go is your ears,
They go numb too, making the world sound muffled like it’s underwater.
No hearing people screaming your name as you succumb to the cold,
Only silence in the path to the end.

Your nose goes next,
Feeling like it’s turned to ice or stone,
Smells become distantly unknown,
Only a little into freezing over.

Next are your cheeks—the rest of your face.
Red from the chill as they would in the heat
Except the cold is much more merciful in killing off your nerves before it does you.
It’s a plausible question,
Whether it hurts to smile more because your face throbs or because you’re drowning in your demise.

And then goes your chin.
It’s hard to communicate when you’re dying,
Less so to call for help,
And more so to say goodbye to everything you know.
It’s going to happen eventually,
And when it happens, you can’t guarantee you’ll be able to say goodbye,
Or even want to in the first place.