You Say the World is Cold
You say the world is cold.
Or, are you cold? Perhaps lukewarm?
You were hot once, not just in body but in spirit. On fire for this world … and then, a cooling. Because the world disappointed you. Or made you cry one too many times. (And every time after one was too many. Your heart is not as strong as that doorknob, or this bench. Your heart is soft, and saddens easily.)
But maybe the world isn’t cold.
Perhaps the world is really warm, like the Atlantic Ocean when she climbs the sand bars in North Carolina in August.
Maybe the world is cold because you expect it to be cold. Maybe you are a shallow reader, and mistake headlines for hearts and minds.
Perhaps, instead, you should imagine the world is warm — like the sweet, sticky air of a newborn baby’s breath on your shoulder. Or the warm, sloppy kiss of your toddler after an orange popsicle. Or the steamy sweat coming off your lover’s body, the perspiration darkening and dampening the sheets.
Maybe the world is warm like that. And you just have to give her a chance, even if she might break your heart again.