Cold air.... cold lips. But his love is warm like a deceased fire leaving a blanket of warmth over my body. Over my life.
783 Weizland Hill. That was my address and his, our address. I met him the day we moved in. I was driving my fist into the dark mud in the yard. Just five years old. He came up beside me swift and quick. Like a cold gust of wind. He took my fist out of the mud and uncurled my fingers there in my small pinkish palm was a wrinkled paper with the words "I am Zacriah".
His cool skin tickles my mud caked arms.the sensation felt soothing. Like a cold class of tea on a hot summer day. I could feel his breath coating my round freckled cheek. His breath was warm.... He was so close.
He laid my hand back in the mud and stood up. He outstretched his arm, offering to pick me up. I took his hand and he vanished. Gone! Into thin air. I could not explain.
Little did I know that Zacriah would return and never leave my side.
