Poetry

I cradled the tea, cherished it like a long lost friend, my numb fingers draining its warmth. It was one of those days we call February and I had made the mistake of going outside. Hunched in the cold wind, I trudged through the snow. For what? A play! The walk had taken longer than anticipated and the play was just about to start when the warmth of the theatre finally embraced me. I quietly slipped into my seat, my eyes settling on the stage. Once the queen of the night had fallen to her doom, I had to face my own frozen hell again. Darkness engulfed me. Streetlights vanished behind swirling snow. The biting frost, gnawing like a dog on a bone. Somehow I made it back home. Sparked a fire, put the kettle on, and poured myself a steaming cup of tea.

I met my younger self for coffee, he was oblivious, wide-eyed and free.