Leave Something for the Archaeologists
Heliopolis
2003-03-29 5:11 pm
The Endless Winter
As I find myself staring into the sun, red spots and streaks appearing when I close my eyes, I imagine that the yellow light could melt the cold that has found a home in my heart. But this fantasy could never last. No warmth from that star could thaw my frigid bones.
I had hoped the spring would find my tears liquid once more, but ice crystals remain in my eyes. My lips, cracked and bloody, receive no kisses from a bright and pretty Spring. My skin, still cold and pale, undergoes no transmutation in the light - no gold swells upon my cheek; I remain as lead, my chill and grey texture, an insult to the Sun.
Maybe somewhere, I had sold my spirit to the Winter. But that doesn't matter now, when I haven't even heart enough to feel regret.
