Work Text:
God, I hate it.
I hate the way the cold seeps into my bones and makes everything hurt.
I hate the way it slithers its way into the crevices of my brain, squeezing until every thought hurts.
Until every little movement feels like my bones are shattering like icicles on pavement.
The way it coils itself tight around my lungs.
The way it makes everything seem too loud or too bright.
The way it makes it seem like the dark is still too bright and the silence still too loud.
I hate it.
This cold.
This—this feeling.
This feeling that won’t go away.
This feeling that makes me miserable.
This feeling that makes it seem like I’ll die by the time morning comes.