Outsider Inside

I came inside... Why am I so cold?

 

I can feel the warmth, there's a security to it, a comfort, but the cold, it clings to me. Try as I might to feel the heat, it fails to shake the frost from me. No one can see it or at least they pretend not to; they ignore my shivers, the condensation that hangs in the air as I breathe, I talk. My words, they melt as they leave me, their message evaporates before meaning; mist is a poor conductor of information.

 

Their warmth, it welcomes me, it claims that it's for me too; it drapes me in its colours, shelters me beneath its umbrella. When the rain comes, as it so frequently does, I find myself cold and wet. The run off pours directly atop me, it dampens an already sodden spirit. Again, I try to talk, try to speak but each time I do, a car seems to splash the others; focus is divided.

 

I don't feel the warmth. Not really. I know it's there and I know it exists, but I am still cold.