Forever Feels Like Winter

Sunday 15th,

If you were told you had two years to live, what would you do? Would you skate across the seven seas, your heart chilling them to glaciers and ice like the spine that rattles in your sunken-in eyes? Dance across mountains that shiver underneath the touch of a claimed dead man? Sing in broken tunes, the melodies in you amalgamating to a resonating roar, and fall to a shattered heap? I'd vouch that you wouldn't. Because the dead only know how to do one thing and only one thing only.

Fear.

And what a faithful friend it is. From the beginning to the end, it stirs within us. A devil that is inside that knows only how to make spawn laden with doubts and insecurities. It starts off as a small seed and at that point it's nothing more than an insignificant wonder. A curious feeling. But how wrong we are to underestimate the power of fear. Perhaps it is a goodbye that starts it's manifestation. Or even a possible hello. Whatever the reason, it begins small. And it begins with a bang. Once it grips you by the gut, it rushes through the veins like an overwhelming river, searing through like hot ice, melting and freezing wherever it touches. Fear isn't merciful. Fear is the only thing synonymous to death. Because in the end, only one of you two wins. Chances are, it's not going to be you.

We fear death. But then again, we fear living.

But not anymore. Not me.

- Mel.