05-03-2016, 12:58 PM
I love the way the ice seeps into my bones. I love how it sinks through my skin and reaches into my chest and digs in until I am too numb to think, to feel anything but the all-consuming cold. I should be happy. There's no reason for the sorrow that creeps in through the cracks in my jagged heart, not when I'm so lucky. I'm surrounded by people who love me, people I would do anything for. People I would die for in less than a beat of my shattered glass heart. They've pieced me back together and patched me up, and sometimes I still feel so...
So I love the way the cold numbs even that inexplicable sadness, makes it so I can't feel anything at all. With a heavy sigh, I soldier on, pushing through drifts of snow as the wind howls in my ears and tangles with my ashen mane. I shouldn't be out, not on a day like today and certainly not with shadows welling up in my chest and mingling with the icy touch of oncoming winter. As blessed as I am, there are still times when I can't bear the touch of my parents or my siblings, when I can't curl up into their embrace and let their love rain down on me and wash away the dark.
That doesn't even make sense. None of it does, though. I hate that it still hurts, that it's still so heavy, that those shadows can be so dense and substantial that they weigh down my whole body, making it next to impossible to move. It's not always. Most days, I cuddle and tell stories with Argo, coax songs out of Mari, have adventures with Leelee. Most days, I curl into Mom's chest and feel nothing but her boundless love chasing away the dark, or talk to Offspring, maybe even shyly ask him to play. He makes an excellent pirate captain, or dragon, or abominable snow monster.
So how, with all these people who love me, can I still sometimes feel so alone? Like I'm drowning in darkness, being washed away by a black sea of sorrow, like the waves are slowly eroding everything I am, everything my family has helped me to become. How could I waste what they've done for me wallowing in pain that has no right to touch me anymore? How could I be so ungrateful?
I wonder if the Tundra could reach inside my chest and—Mom would be mad if she heard me think that, so I cut the thought off and focus on the ice and snow against my legs, the chill of the wind as it strokes along my skin stealing body heat through my thick winter coat the color of shadows and dirt. Just stop thinking. Just stop—hey, what's that? Green is definitely not a common sight in the Tundra in winter, and as I come up to the gap in the great ice wall—because where else would I wander when I want the cold to seep into my chest and turn the shadows to so much murky ice?—a flash of green distracts me from my determined not thinking.
It's a little ways off, and I squint, focusing in on the approaching stranger. A lady, which I'm coming to learn is a bit unusual in the frozen kingdom. The Tundra, despite being home to my whole family, is a land populated primarily by stallions, with mares unable to participate in kingdom politics or hold positions or titles. Maybe she is the mate of one of the other stallions, coming home after a visit elsewhere or a wander. But as she draws closer I can see she doesn't have the warm winter coat of a Tundra resident. A visitor?
Perking my ears, I walk toward her, meeting her outside the wall. She's larger than I am, but just about everyone is. I'm barely a yearling, and small runs in my blood. Pretty, though, with her coat the color of springtime. As a representative of my father's kingdom, I'm on my best behavior when I greet her. “Hello, ma'am. Welcome to the Tundra. My name is Nevi. How can I help you?”
So I love the way the cold numbs even that inexplicable sadness, makes it so I can't feel anything at all. With a heavy sigh, I soldier on, pushing through drifts of snow as the wind howls in my ears and tangles with my ashen mane. I shouldn't be out, not on a day like today and certainly not with shadows welling up in my chest and mingling with the icy touch of oncoming winter. As blessed as I am, there are still times when I can't bear the touch of my parents or my siblings, when I can't curl up into their embrace and let their love rain down on me and wash away the dark.
That doesn't even make sense. None of it does, though. I hate that it still hurts, that it's still so heavy, that those shadows can be so dense and substantial that they weigh down my whole body, making it next to impossible to move. It's not always. Most days, I cuddle and tell stories with Argo, coax songs out of Mari, have adventures with Leelee. Most days, I curl into Mom's chest and feel nothing but her boundless love chasing away the dark, or talk to Offspring, maybe even shyly ask him to play. He makes an excellent pirate captain, or dragon, or abominable snow monster.
So how, with all these people who love me, can I still sometimes feel so alone? Like I'm drowning in darkness, being washed away by a black sea of sorrow, like the waves are slowly eroding everything I am, everything my family has helped me to become. How could I waste what they've done for me wallowing in pain that has no right to touch me anymore? How could I be so ungrateful?
I wonder if the Tundra could reach inside my chest and—Mom would be mad if she heard me think that, so I cut the thought off and focus on the ice and snow against my legs, the chill of the wind as it strokes along my skin stealing body heat through my thick winter coat the color of shadows and dirt. Just stop thinking. Just stop—hey, what's that? Green is definitely not a common sight in the Tundra in winter, and as I come up to the gap in the great ice wall—because where else would I wander when I want the cold to seep into my chest and turn the shadows to so much murky ice?—a flash of green distracts me from my determined not thinking.
It's a little ways off, and I squint, focusing in on the approaching stranger. A lady, which I'm coming to learn is a bit unusual in the frozen kingdom. The Tundra, despite being home to my whole family, is a land populated primarily by stallions, with mares unable to participate in kingdom politics or hold positions or titles. Maybe she is the mate of one of the other stallions, coming home after a visit elsewhere or a wander. But as she draws closer I can see she doesn't have the warm winter coat of a Tundra resident. A visitor?
Perking my ears, I walk toward her, meeting her outside the wall. She's larger than I am, but just about everyone is. I'm barely a yearling, and small runs in my blood. Pretty, though, with her coat the color of springtime. As a representative of my father's kingdom, I'm on my best behavior when I greet her. “Hello, ma'am. Welcome to the Tundra. My name is Nevi. How can I help you?”