Veins of Ice #

sadness isn’t heavy for me.
it’s cold.
a creeping frost,
starting somewhere near my heart,
spreading like ice through my veins—
slow, subtle.
i know it’s here when my hands start to shake
for no reason at all.

sometimes it’s just a whisper of wind,
slipping through the seams of my jacket,
so faint i could almost ignore it.
almost.

other times, it’s brutal—
like standing naked in a blizzard,
exposed.
the cold seizes my chest,
my heart aching in a way that feels like it should crack.
my hands tremble,
my legs lose their grip on the ground,
and my head pounds from the weight of it.

ma says something—
a careless word,
and i feel it come.
a friend jokes—
and i’m back in the snowstorm.
sometimes,
it just comes without warning,
and i don’t even know why.

most days,
i don’t know why.

i try to shake it off,
talk to the few friends i have.
they help, sometimes—
warmth returning,
like thawing fingers after the cold.
other times,
i read, or code,
let the warmth crawl back in through distraction.
but when it lingers,
when the shivering won’t stop,
i write it down,
as if i could turn the cold into words
and make it leave.

but that’s what sadness is.
for me, at least.