Warm Snow

Sam says that snow makes him warm. He says that when the snow piles up on the ground and the buildings, cars and trees, it makes everything seem bigger and taller. He says that it makes the overall environment feel smaller, cozier, warmer. He hugs himself as he says this and swings his feet in the air. 

“I hate the snow,” I say. I rub my thumb across the cracks of my dried skin. “It never made me feel warm.” I scratch my skin.

“That’s fair,” he says. Again he smiles his idiotic smile. What is there to be so happy about? I think.

“Well, I better head to class,” he says and jumps off the windowsill. He opens his arms for a hug and I can’t resist, even though I find his optimism terribly annoying. I slightly lean towards him from the windowsill and return his hug. “Try not to be too grumpy, okay?” he says into my ear. I smack his shoulder but can’t help smiling, a little. “Get out of here!” 

He chuckles as he walks away and disappears from my view. 

I’m alone again. I love being alone because I’m a loner. I hate it because I feel myself sinking into my darkest thoughts again, with no one to distract me. I duck my head between my knees, but can’t shut out the image of my life stretched before me like an endless dark road. I think about all the things I have yet to do, all the things I could be doing right now, and what a burden they all feel like. I think about how worthless I am for not doing anything with my time and that very thought exhausts me to the point of not doing anything. I hate myself for being stupid enough to be trapped in this cycle and yet I can’t seem to get out. I feel angry at myself, my days, my life, this stupid cold and how ironic it is that it should feel so dark when everything is covered in white, even the air.   

I look at the snow again. But what if that weirdo was right? What if the snow might actually be warm?