I have always liked cold, because it can be defended against, dodged, and forgotten. My fingers are swollen and red as my blood burns through icy arteries, slowly restoring feeling into skin rendered numb and useless by winter wind.

There has always been something about winter that i can withstand; my mother in multiple layers, my grandmother complaining about the cold, my roommates turning up the heat … and i am due to walk back to the laundromat in ten minutes wearing only a pair of corduroys and a flannel shirt. Yes, there is a chill in the air, but is it so different from spring? I am enamored with the next season precisely because of that chill in the air — the way it cuts past your sleeves to press close against your skin despite the warmth of the day. Winter is just like that, really, except for there is nothing but chill … chill to walk through to get to more chill, and chill at your back the entire time.

I am hiding from the cold here in my room, and i think it may have forgotten all about me.