I recall in the winter months that I would tell him my body had a chill that I could not shake.
I remember it well.
It was a gruesome cold that shot through my bones and caused my fingertips to turn blue.
I did not know why I was consumed by shivering and aching joints. It was not even very cold that year, but my body felt like I had been laying out in a snow covered field for hours.
I tried teas and hot showers and fireplaces. I even took a match and held it close to my hand one night, hoping it would melt ice that was not visible.
Maybe it was my past actions catching up with me.
Maybe it was the universe's way of telling me that he was not the thing that could set my soul ablaze.
He did though. He really did.
He would call me up and tell me to come to his warm home, he would have me sit in a hot bath full of roses and salts, surrounded by candles and music and wine.
He would sit by the claw tub as I allowed the warm water to soak the bruises and cracks off my skin. He would read philosophy aloud to me and we would talk about the stars and how the planets moved.
He would help me out of the tub, wrap me up in blankets and jackets, asking me if I could still feel the chill I couldn't shake.
I would respond with a smile, blood oozing from my lips as I would lie and tell him it was gone. I would tell me my bones no longer shook and I could stand on my own. The more I lied, the more blood accumulated in my mouth, then spilling over into the freshly washed white blankets he had just wrapped me in.
As the snow turned into rain, and the sun began to shine as spring came, he was gone. He took my cold with him. I don't know where he went.
It is now a year later, rain slowly turning into snow, the once warm sun now becoming clouds blocking heat from entering my heart.
The cold I could not shake before is back and stronger than ever. But he is gone, no longer there to help it melt.
