Cold Feet : 10.02.03 @ 11:19 pm

I'm so cold.
The type of cold where it doesn't matter how many blankets you wrap around yourself, it doesn't matter how many pairs of socks you pull onto ice cold feet, the cold doesn't go away.

I'm seven, and it's six-thirty-two in the morning. I tip-toe down the aging, creaking stairs and peek into my grandmother's room.
My grandfather is already out, making coffee and walking the dog along the hills and woods that make up our isolated winter wonderland.
I crawl into bed with her, and snuggle close. She tucks the blanket around me and kisses me on my forehead.
I smile, breathe in the scent that is uniquely hers, and brush my small feet against hers.
"Oh! Your feet are so cold!"
I smile wider and warm them against hers.

Since before I started keeping track, which is moot because I never did...
I fall asleep pretending that I am curled up against someone that I love, listening to their heart beat and the sounds of their steady breathing.
Since before I started keeeping track, I wake up wishing for the added warmth against my body, and the feel of another's feet keeping mine warm.

/A

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