Air Conditioning

Blizzard

I care like a snowstorm,
It tears at my skin and scratches my turmoil,
It makes my teeth chatter and my lips blue,
But blue is such a pretty color.

Those I care for are my Eden,
My shelter,
My warmth.

When I'm without them, I freeze.
When I'm with them, I'm safe.

Things they say sometimes make the wind whip harder,
So hard I swear that maybe it's cutting me literally,
Tiny lacerations in my skin drawing blood.

I feel the pantomime of warm and wet as it trickles down my cheeks.

They don't know what they do wrong unless I tell them, but
Usually I'm just told I'm being dramatic.

But when caring is a snowstorm and they are the warmth,
The mix of hot and cold creates some violent winds.

I reach for any pinch of warmth,
Everyone I pass is a pillar of possibilities for shelter, for companionship-

And it makes it very easy to push too hard and watch them crumble.

Theres one pillar that is hard on the outside and broken inside, and I can tell so well,

But to wrap my arms around it and feel its warmth is hard when they guard it so well.

I want to help, to give them salves for the broken patches in their foundation,

But I can't.

There's another pillar, who displays their broken shell to me,
And I know their core is stronger than I'll ever be,
They seep warmth at the slightest brush of my finger tips,
Pouring it into me-

But leaving that beautiful strength to weaken every time.

And so while I wish to tenderly trace my fingers over well-worn crevices,
To feel their warmth seep into me-

I don't.
I would rather freeze then subject them to the cold I know.

For just a moment today,
I wasn't a snowstorm.

At a gentle touch, a tracing of fingers across my surface, the warmth-

It bloomed from within me, all consuming, and I took great joy in the feeling of giving it.

And then the touch left, and I was cold again, the wind whipping stronger than before.

I hope to feel that warmth bloom from me once again tomorrow.