The coldest I have ever felt. 

I have never liked the feeling of cold but rather curl my feet up and down vigorously in an effort to return some blood circulation to them. I zip up my coat all the way and stick my nose in the inside and breathe out hot air. I scrunch my wet hazel eyes up so much that their hoods cover them up revealing only the part of my eye closest to the nose bridge. 

But as I stood out in the cold last night I enjoyed the feeling of the freezing. I turned my face to a blast of wind and inhaled in my nostrils the most glacial subzero scent and felt it swirling around in the caverns of my lungs. I slowly unbottoned my beige cardigan and held it above my head allowing it bellow in the breath of winter. I peeled my eyes open and permitted the gellid wind to come in and take residence in my skull. 

It was not a foreboding whiplash but a gentle zephyr. She was not as harsh as I thought but just empty and alone. She was just looking for a friend. I had been still enough to be her listener.

I became a product of that winter wind. 

Suddenly the snow became warm. The landscape became beautiful. 

Reaching out I carressed an icicle and enwrapped my hands around it. The warmth drained out and flooded into it and it began to melt. It reflected the world around it, showing only what was.

It was then I realized that I was a child of a domestic warmth. I had not been a child of the winter or the wind as I had thought I was. I was not meant to be here. I was killing its beauty.

I released it and watched as a droplet of water fell from it.

Then I slowly turned back and knocked at the glass door turning and back into my hell. I stood hesitantly, awaiting my torment.