Still shivering

Sometimes I understand. That nothing’s important until you feel it slipping away. Life’s elevator broken down between floors. Doing the math always makes me feel so cold. The answers that might fail me. I think the world is small enough to fit in my pocket. But I would never be so presumptuous to try it. Waiting for a suitable moment to force the doors apart. Thinking I’ve stood here shivering long enough.

Sometimes the numbers make sense, but most of the time they just take up space. Like words, or music, or colorful kites pressed to the wind. I’ve always preferred to take the stairs. Telling my stories to bored ghosts and the memories that echo there. Each step another paragraph or reason to turn the page.

Alone again, like empty cupboards. Tripping over my own shadow; feeling the wind before it rains. All my choices stiff with age. To be that little girl at the top of the stairs, peering into the darkness. More curious than afraid of what comes next. A snowball the size of the world in her pocket. Unaware that it has melted.