Written By Emotions

A cold hand that felt warm

I was forged a lone sentinel
Birthed in the heart of a tempest,
A tempest not of my making,
But woven into the marrow of existence.
Chaos was my cradle,
Its tumult my lullaby.
Without the compass of affection,
I erected my citadel-
Stone by stone, bullet by bullet-
Leaving a slit to witness
The world beyond my ramparts.

I saw them-
Legions in tandem,
Battalions bound by ties I did not understand.
A singular soldier in my own keep,
For the law written in my veins decreed:
"One soul per fortress,
For no hand would reach."

But there-
There, they fought side by side.
I fought alone.

Through the fissures of doubt,
He came-
A man, a rifle gripped firm in his right,
Yet his left extended toward me.

Curiosity stirred-
I loosened the first stone,
To glimpse what lay beyond
The monotony of my cold horizon.
Another stone fell.
And another.
Each brick, a testament
To the wonder of what I had never known-
Of warmth, of soft hues
Seeping through the pallor of my grey walls.

Half my fortress crumbled.
He entered,
His hand in mine, lifting me from the chill,
A face cast in light,
But behind it, a barrel aimed at my heart.

I tilted my head in disbelief.
The shots rang true.
Every bullet a rupture,
Tearing through the sinew of trust I had barely begun to feel.

I recoiled, pushing him from my shattered defenses,
Rebuilding at fevered pace,
No aperture left for even the sun to touch.

Now, impenetrable.
Immovable.
No light, no warmth.
The crimson flows still-
A reminder that even the coldest hand
Can sear like fire
When you've known nothing but ice.