The air is so cold. It rips at my skin. My ears ache. My nose is red, and running. My fingers burn.
The sky is blue. So blue. It holds the golden sun tightly. White clouds fleck the horizon. The sun rises higher.
Each footstep falls on frosty ground. Crunching. Thousands of perfect frosty flecks turn to slush. Crunching.
I had a dream.
And you were in it.
We were running. Fast. Fearlessly. Running. Branches whipped against our clothes. They reached out and dug imaginary claws into our white skin. We kept on running. Crunching.
The path became narrow, more slippery. The frosty foliage beneath our feet turned to frozen dirt as we began to descend. The branches poked at us with jilted fingers, no longer whipping but instead enquiring. Prodding. Like they hadn’t yet found, what they were looking for.
You looked back as I slid. And I saw your hand reach out for mine as I fell.
I hit the ground. It was a long moment before I looked up.
You were still running.
I could hear your voice. It resonated within me, without sound.
And although I knew what you were saying, I couldn’t hear the words, couldn’t quite place them.
I saw the back of you, forging ahead into the unknown as I sat still. You didn’t look back.
Then you were gone, and it was quiet. I picked myself up. I dusted off my clothes.
I was alone.
I called your name. Silence. Just me, your footprints and some slushy untrodden ground.