A full moon rises over the snow covered mountains, the same mountains that constrict my breathing, the same mountains that covet my ability to roam. Is this why they prevent me from wandering?

Jealousy: The coldest emotion.

Ice crystals are forming upon the surface of the window from which I observe. I exhale warm air to fog a circular blemish onto the glass and run my fingers through the condensation, admiring the delicate existence of the pattern. It fades.

Stare: The coldest gaze.

I breathe in deeply and feel my lungs capture the dry, frozen air, deep. This chills me to the bone, and my arms form goose bumps. Something about watching the suffocated weeds peering through the crisp, icy layer of snow, weighing them down, moving quicker than the looming mountains as I stare emptily from the backseat of safety causes me to feel heavy.

Empty: The coldest feeling.

I can see the frozen water hanging in the air, glistening, as the sun continues to set, casting an orange hue and an ominous shadow over the scenery, the scenery that has become the quintessential prison of who I am. This prison, that causes my heart to beat quickly, yet faint, my mind to whirl around one object on which I’ve focused and become dependent upon.

Lonely: The coldest existence.

And I search into the distance, squinting at the horizon, daring a pathway to that moon to open up and pull me in, much akin to the action it has upon the rising tide. I lean my forehead against the frozen pane keeping the bitter wind from my eyes and allow my skin to chill, causing a shiver of warmth to envelope me as I find myself slowly losing control of my eyelids and

falling
falling
falling
into a dream state as fragile as the snowflakes draping the earth in a white blanket to nurture that which lays below.

Cold: The protective layer.

If I were to keep driving, still dreaming,
I would let the ground shiver and warm itself.
And if I were to keep driving, still dreaming
I would embrace the ground with my warm blood, the blood that pulses through my veins with life.
And if I were to keep driving, still dreaming
I would watch the earth slowly come back to life as I wish I could, the green buds protruding fiercely through their chains.
And if I were to keep driving, still dreaming
I would show the mountains what lay beyond their guard, tempting them to escape this hell, as I wish they would release me.

If I were to keep driving…still dreaming…