Unfreezing Hope

“Say something,” I whisper. The mist from my breath rises in the chilly night air. I can barely make out the form before me in the darkness. I reach out my hand and touch something. It is hard and cold.

I feel the caress on my cheek. I close my eyes, as it lingers at my chin.

“Say something,” I whisper, again. The cold has lodged in my bones. I begin to shake. I draw closer.

Arms wrap around me, holding me close, enveloping me in warmth. My muscles loosen, releasing their pent up tension. Fingers gently entwine my hair.

“I was beginning to give up on you,” I whisper.

The arms loosen.

“Wait,” I whisper, urgently. “I want you to stay.” I twist; snow falls from my head and arms. I place my frozen hands on dense shoulders. They are not soft as I remember; there is no movement—no suppleness. My heart constricts; ready to relinquish the task of propelling viscous blood.

“Say something!” I scream. I attempt to shake the solid figure before me. I look up, frantically searching for eyes to tell me something—anything.

The sight freezes my wailing body. Morning has begun to dawn. The eerie light intrudes with revelation. Eyes are clouded, lacking iris and pupil. Hand is forever stilled in an outward reach. Arms and shoulders are cloaked with rusting metal instead of soft fabric.

I push myself from him and back away. As I stand still, watching him, the sunrise breaks upon my back. I can feel the rays defrosting my hands, my bones, and my heart.

As I turn to go, I finally hear him whisper to my back: “What was is gone; discover newness.” I do not turn around, and my pace never slows.