If I stood out in the snow alone, and you offered me your coat, I would still be cold. Perhaps even more so, I would freeze to death. There is no fence around my person, no gate to unlock, or door to break down. And yet I remain inaccessible.
I wish you saw straight into my being, and not the redness of my cheeks or the goosebumps on my skin because perhaps you would see it is a long embrace I need, and not an expensive fur-lined coat. You would see I had stood in the snow all of my life, and never felt a chill until others passed me, for then I would be reminded of the warmth that I lacked.
I have gotten used to my position, but with all of this passing by I can no longer ignore what I have always ceased to have. The passerby play and jump in the snow with their knit mittens, and soft fleece hats, and big downy jackets, but it is none of those things I desire. I desire the way the little boys and girls hold hands as they run, fluffy snow kicking from beneath their feet. I desire the light touch given to the child from his mother, to push him down the hill and provoke his laughter. I desire the Eskimo kisses between naive couples as they stand under the mistletoe tree.
I wish you had asked me what I needed, because you would have seen I am not cold because of the white expression of the weather, but that my cold originates from within.
