We were outside, chilled to the bone, clinging to each other for warmth. There was none to be found. Shivering profusely, even if we wanted to stand, our limbs would fail us. Pulling each other closer, trying with all our might to find a stitch of warmth left in either of us, even though we both knew that there was none. The cold North Wind had come in and snatched the last of the warmth within our bodies. Like the beast it was, it swooped in with its icicle crusted fingers, burying deep down into us, searching every corner: heart, soul. With every breath, it entered our bodies. Claws scraping down our throats, deep into our lungs, spreading to the blood, the heart, where it clung, like a babe to their mother’s chest. Chaining and shackling itself with dead bolt upon deadbolt.
Looking into each other’s eyes, we see the spark that so readily burned before start to frost over. We pull away, since no warmth is to be found, but alone, is so much worse. At arm’s length we stare at the once radiant creature that now cringes and huddles away as if it were a discarded toy a toddler has outgrown and mangled. Perfect reflections we are, as if a projection was placed in the others soul.
We are still alive, is what we see in the other, life, but no warmth, quivering too severely to live it. The North Wind blows harder, whipping our tattered and torn clothes around us. We pull each other closer, but this time different, a smile is shared, but not duplicated by the other, where question and pain is engraved too deeply from the frigid North Wind; different in that the other envelopes around, cocooning themselves over the other, sacrificing themselves, hiding the other in their arms and soul, the last attempt.
Taking another deep breath, the North Wind howls around, trying to burrow itself through to the other soul encased beneath. No warmth is to be found, but a tiny gray spark still burns. Protected from the North Wind’s talons, it is able to smolder, to get a grip on the deadbolts the North Wind has so strongly placed upon the heart. The frost steams and tries to pool away as the spark turns to a flame and tickles the underbelly of the chains: warming, living.
Growing the flame clings to the chains; they try to escape but turning into a torch, the flame dances and licks at them in earnest. Underneath the chains, underneath the frost, scars, fresh and bleeding reveal themselves. The body starts to still. Up above and around it, coldness, shivering and unable to move, gripping it starts to slip, starts to lose hold. Shrieking triumph, the North Wind picks up strength, but is stopped. Burned it is as it enters the throat, trying to climb down to the soul, burned by the blossoming flame. But the smell of the fresh wounds, the fresh blood, draws it again, unable to resist such a taunt, making it deeper into the body, only to be repelled again. Over and over it tries. Over and over it fails.
Cold and shivering, the other grasps tightly to the once radiant creature that stark body protected the last bit of flame that danced within them, nurturing theirs to burn bright. Not giving up, the North Wind keeps howling about them. Diligently it seeps deeper into the other, trying to get a solid grip, only to be expelled as the spark grows.
At arm’s length, they stare at the radiant creature that now sits full of purpose, full of life across from them. Perfect reflections we are, as if a projection was placed in the others soul. The wounds cry blood, but are protected, slowly cauterized by the flame. No more does the North Winds talons claw, but more itch and ****, still there, but not controlling.
We are outside, warmed by the other, clinging to each other in awe. Stilled by peace, we stand, holding to each other for balance, unsure if our limbs will hold us. Even though we falter, and almost topple from the North Winds push, we take a tentative step. The cold North Winds silenced. Like the beast it is, it is defeated, not without leaving scars, not without leaving tender wounds buried deep down into us, its reminder etched as a reminder in every corner: heart, soul.
We hold onto each other, no longer clinging, but steadying. There if the other may falter, if the other may fall. There to rekindle the flame, if the North Wind tries to extinguish it again.
The cuts will heal, but the scars never leave. They open and reopen, crying tears of blood. Once again they will heal, but even healed, they throb. The pain numbed but never lost.
