I fear that having lived in this freezing cold country my whole life has created a warmth debt within me that would take Africa to abide.
I’ve complained about being cold in Mexico. I’ve fretted over my frigidity in the desert.
I will whimper the second I fall into shadow.
I sometimes wonder what happened to the me who used to throw on every layer of clothing she owned and go running in this weather at night, my breath preceding me in short bursts of icy clouds.
The anger that powered those late night sessions has long since rid itself of me. This absence of hot temper has left me chattering my teeth and shuddering now in the slightest of winds.