aerasio

Chill

Its a cold morning. The wind howls sharply. The window is frosty, the landscape white. I sit up groggily, a blank mind still asleep within a rising body. I step into the bathroom. The white tiles are cold to my feet, who shudder at their chilling touch. I make for the rug and welcome to buffer against the morning cold. I reach for my toothbrush, a weathered and pitiful thing. The motions of the morning bathroom ritual come to me. Forms and flows practiced day after day without fail, they are a routine, a predictable... a comfort.

After a morning session of gameplay and the customary web surfing, I proceed downstairs for breakfast. The term is misleading, its 11.30 and I'm the only one at the table. I drench my home-made 'belgian waffle' in maple syrup, and then throw on some ice cream for good measure. The whole mess looks like a something the stereotypical sweet-crazy fat kid dragged in, I take a large and big bite anyway. The sweetness is acute, sharp and shocking. My taste buds suddenly are swamped, my mind reels with the sheer strength of it. The carton of Eddy's Ice Cream reads, "Double-Vanilla: Intense and sweet", I groan silently while the overwhelming taste in my mouth plays 'pinata' with my reeling head. Thats why I don't eat breakfast...

We drive off to the winter carnival, because Dad decided it was a good idea. I grumble a little, but my mind is elsewhere, semi-present and unstable. The ice sculptures look depressed, lonely amidst to flat and bleak white landscape. Despite the thronging crowds, the horridly mass-produced smell of pop-corn and corn-dog, the place feels like a wretched, empty dump of artificial wasteland. The hole in my mind where the rain gets in isn't fixed, and it wanders, where it will go...

I read my friends blogs. The words on the screen are funny, somber, exciting yet mundane, but I am still hundreds of thousands of miles away, in a cold little room at a cold little desk with an old toshiba laptop that runs hot even in Minnesotan weather. What do you say when the friends you once knew pass you by, growing and gaining, living life and loving life, experiencing the joys and thrills that you should have shared with them, while you stare from behind an icy wall? The chill seeps through the window, frosting it's edges, but that is nothing, a passing cold that will be gone come spring. Another chill remains though, the one that creeps into my soul, freezing slowly the passions in my heart, leaving a deadened husk.

A chill that comes in the night and lingers in the frosts of a foreign land till a familiar dawn drives it away...

So said Aerasio at 23:56