It was cold, a biting cold of blushing cheeks, dry skin and makes the limbs.
It was cold, inside and out. Certainly colder inside, in the depths of his soul. It was coming slowly, while summer was still there, the sun's hot rays darted still on earth. It came slowly, almost imperceptibly, as if the cold was a big thief who would not get caught. One day, she felt a tear rolled froze its plays, the day after, she felt that her heart froze and became like a stone too heavy to carry.
Slowly she was crouched at the bottom of the falling night letting the world spin without it, there, outside, outside of everything white. And the fall has begun, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Until it lands on a huge ice endless bruised deep within herself, like a broken doll that was removed too early from the hands of the girl who cares. The cold has invaded everything, photos, memories and dreams that have fallen one after another in a profound emptiness gently to drown, not knowing afloat in this turbulent ocean. A winter white covered everything, hours after hours as the clock struck there in a forgotten tower live, while the leaves just fell trees while the sap was flowing still live in forests that s' stretched out beneath the majestic mountains.
She deep breath and say that this cold, it might be a sign that she already had one foot in the grave, there was nothing to do nothing to fight this evil that was eating would finally defeated her. And she slipped on the ice, wearing a large white cloth that covered her feet frozen, she cried tears of ice, it left invade his eyes rolled up into a large white wall to which She went on forever.
There was nothing to do but wait for the white death invades the universe, the plants slowly die without hope of coming spring. Looking up slowly to a colorless sky, pale and stockings, she then saw a white bird rise to the forgotten stars, taking wing to draw a red rose, that she wanted to see her secret garden in bloom. It was perhaps too late, maybe she was already dead to be buried elsewhere, and now in a corner of the cemetery she had so often walked to talk to the dead, those who rest in the shade of the mountains, away from the cruel wounds that life inflicts upon those who walk its path. She knows, the dead speak sometimes more than the living, in this deep silence she began to tame.
A snowflake, a white hand seized her softly, a dream that is fading and the white coldness rising significantly along the arteries, which pervades everything, head, body, spirit, vomits pinnacles of ice crashing hard in skin became so pale that it seems transparent, ready to crack to let out tears of blood.
An endless winter, ice in every nook and cranny and hearts that are no longer able to bleed they're so numbed by the blandishments of the white fairy.
She did not know if she was dead or if she was still alive, she simply thought that the road stopped there, she had no strength to climb the hills of the snow gathered in snowdrifts. His heart was still beating it, would certainly do that for a few more stages, a few bursts before they stop running rampant, as the clock had stopped at the house of his grandfather's past, in times Now immemorial.
Perhaps it was also time to join him in his white paradise, never to feel anything, to be warm, burn, burn in an eternity endless. And when she decided to slide down the slope of white light as a princess and forgotten, she spun slowly at first, then faster and faster and she felt like an AA release, as if everything ended there in a slow undertow of icy waves. She closed her eyes and let herself go peacefully in a slow torpor, and she died as a dislocated doll, abandoned.
And suddenly, in the death that had banished from the living world she had loved, she gasped, her heart leapt, and blood flowed to his temples, causing a stir, vomiting her whole being.
Throughout this deadly cold, warm and powerful hand grabbed her and then another and yet another. As relief, a last rescue at sea or mountains, no matter because it was a party in a world where borders no longer exist, where matter merges with the cold waters of the oceans. Numb with cold, we put her in front of a burning fire, the fire of all those eyes looking at her and told her not to go quietly, not to close the book of history but to write stories again and again Endless where kids rule, where mountains majestically enthroned on rolling grasslands, where the seas prevail paper boats to unknown inhabited by aboriginal peoples. Still numbed by the sharp flakes that burned her skin soft, she finally opened her eyes, she was shaken, snow fell from his clothes, from every pore of his skin, rolling on the ground and bursting into hissing softly .
She cried and her tears of ice became tears of blood and then drops of water dripping into tumultuous his cheeks turned into waterfalls, swelling, becoming huge streams to form , Rivers, rivers and eventually reach the great ocean, one on which all souls are sailing friends, the ones who climb the mountain to rescue the forgotten, those who swim in the ocean to collect the shipwrecked among the mermaids and giants stone circle in the corners of this vast universe.
She knows if she wanted.
But since that day, the day she died, she felt within her an intense cold that sometimes the terrace, other times to vomit. A white veil gets some time before his eyes and hide the reality, she sees the great white lady, with her transparent robe which tends icy fingers. Snorting while she hunts deep within her vision, with his pencil erases and redraws patiently letters, the words to tell, to say she is not quite dead, still alive but cold perhaps too much suffering. The great white winter then removed step by step, slowly, hesitantly and gives way to a pale sun, although still cold and low on the horizon, but one day perhaps entirely warm.
A snowflake flutters, tender thoughts, sad flight
A sunbeam spread, grilled sweet, bitter heat
Slowly, stealthily, she slips, she twirls, she dances, she flies away.
I, she, it's me, and I slip on my white ills.
© Delphinium January 2010
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