On the Coldest Day of Winter

On the coldest day of winter,

they do not feel the cold.

The pain inside them

has already claimed every nerve,

every breath,

every place the frost could reach.

The air burns.

The wind howls.

But none of it compares

to what has made a home in their chest.

Cold touches skin.

Pain lives deeper.

So they walk through winter uncovered,

not out of courage,

but because the outside world

has nothing left to take.

When the heart is heavy enough,

even ice feels gentle.

When the ache is constant,

numbness feels like rest.

The cold begs to be felt—

to prove they are alive.

But the pain inside is louder,

older,

and unwilling to let anything else speak.

On the coldest day of winter,

they realize this truth:

the body may shiver,

but the soul has already frozen.