Ice Box

The snow just keeps falling. There’s a blanket of white covering everything I see. Crisp and clean, what should be beautiful only leaves me cold. I am drowning in this sea of frozen water. Somewhere there is a crack that will let me escape. Somewhere must be a spot I can break through.

The sun shines but it is hidden behind thick pillows. Too obstructed for me to see or feel its heat. Lights shimmer behind this plate of glass, distorted shapes moving past. I lay beneath, suspended. My cell is clear so I can see them go by. They can see me too but know not of my frozen enclosure. They have no idea I’m different.

     It’s lonely in here. I’m surrounded by people but it’s so lonely. No matter how close we are, I feel a disconnection. We touch but it doesn’t register. We talk but the sounds are muffled. My jail distorts.

     They wouldn’t understand if I told them. “Just break out,” they would say.

     But I can’t. Or won’t.

     Sometimes they say they would empathize. The bitter wind keeps me back. It won’t let me try. It doesn’t want to give them the chance. And how could I ever explain that?

     So I stay in this barren cold and wait. I wait for the sun to move from behind the clouds because I know this time, it will. I wait for the glass to shatter because I know this time, it will. I wait to be in the warm open air again because I know eventually, I will.

     As much as my vision is clouded and marred, I can see enough to glimpse the future. And the future is bright.