i've been thinking about this for a while now, i'm just too scared to write it

ＦＲＩＧＯＰＨＯＢＩＡ [1 . 0]

ⅱ.                                 

[ fear of the cold ]

❤

i'm scared of re-uniting with my mom. and alaska, of course.

ＳＥＷＡＲＤ, ＡＬＡＳＫＡ

𝚅𝙰𝙸𝚁𝙴 𝙹𝙾𝙻𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝙰𝚆𝙰𝙺𝙴, her earphones slipping from her ears as the train descended from the mountains and into the seaside town.

She scooted closer to the window, marvelling at the ice covered roads and wildflowers growing on patches of long grass. The sea met the edge of the houses, where ships were perched near the docks.

Her carriage lurched forward, halting to stop at a station in downtown Seward.

Old, brick buildings stood tall in faded orange and yellows, the local stores quiet on a lazy afternoon. A row of blue houses sat in front of the docks, the faint lights from the windows glowing yellow against the aquamarine water.

Some were lingering around the docks to board ships, and couples strolled by the seaside.

The train started again after the passengers got out, and Vaire glanced at her phone for the sixteenth time to check and make sure she wasn't going past her stop.

Her old childhood cabin house would be the next station.

She still couldn't really process the fact that she was here in Alaska, after all these years.

Her knee bounced with nerves—she was terrified to see mom, after all those years she'd been in New York. She sent money home to mom every two weeks, but other than that, they hadn't spoken. Vaire had tried sending messages, e-mails, voice messages—none of which mom had responded to.

She even remembered trying to mail letters to see if she'd reply—nothing. She'd had no contact with her mom ever since she moved to the city.

The downtown disappeared into a wider landscape, the suburbs turning to trees. The coast swept on for miles beyond the forest, vanishing behind the tall mountains.

The deeper part of Seward was just minutes away from the downtown, and she already felt nervous to be so deep into the forest and its wilderness. No yellow taxis waiting on the side of the road, no telephone booths, no high-rise apartments. Just the pine trees, the ocean, the ships waiting at the docks and and the remaining traces of snow from last winter.

 After dreaming of it for so long, she was here—where she'd grown up. She remembered, before her parents had divorced, that they lived in a seaside cabin years ago when everything was different. 

Her dad would take her fishing every summer by the lake, and mom would teach her how to ice-skate in the winter on the frozen solid river. She remembered late evenings when the three of them stargazed under the night sky, and she remembered all the balloons she sent flying into the clouds when she lost her grip. 

Growing up, Vaire didn't have that many friends—she lived in the forest, in solitude. But she wasn't the one for friends anyway—she preferred to read, and when she got bored of reading, she wrote. 

The grass was dying and winter was coming when dad left. 

He left mom, because he fell out of love. Vaire could tell that he'd grown tired—now looking back at the sum of money on the table and all his things packed up, she would say that he was never suited for the solitude and wilderness that Alaska was.