Winter coldness

As if life was going to take us exactly where we had planned to be happy. Indeed, never could we have been more wrong and naive, for life had settled down for us a good amount of setbacks and disarrays whiches we would never be able to avoid unless we faced straight to our most inner fears and fought them out as the wind blows the falling leaves of an autumn tree.

I hold the idea that I cry at night to release the few pieces of emptiness that I still carry with myself from all those past days. I suppose it is the only way my body has to tell me that it still remembers all that pain, all of that despair and all of that sadness. I believe my eyes cry to warn me about the hole which still exists somewhere in the depth of my soul, to tell me that it is impatiently waiting the moment to spring up again from its own ashes. I am so scared, so, so freaking scared of this moment but still, as always, I prefer to look on the other side and forget about my midnight furtive teardrops. Yes, I've allowed it to happen. And worst of all: completely consciously; I'm probably allowing myself to fall in love again. And now, utterly hopelessly, the only thing I can hold on to is the wish that, this time maybe, I'll be strong enough and my heart won't crack in a thousand pieces. 

And it is true, sometimes, when I'm sad, I let this winter icy coldness to get inside my bones and freeze my blood, so I can stop, for an instant, being alive and fighting myself.

Alessia Garnet