"Here I Go Again... Whitesnake"

I miss the cold.

I love waking up on holidays in some foreign place, and looking out the window at snow-capped mountains. I actually really like mountains. When I went to New Zealand, planning to spend a few months as a plucky 17-year-old working and travelling, and my friend had to come home, it was those mountains that made me stay. The trees. Probably pines. Doesn't matter. They would sweep and lean together, catching the unique snowflakes everyone raves about, holding them close, so close that they join.

I miss the cold. And the mountains.

I have only just realised that I have often envisioned myself traipsing through cold, jagged mountains. Alone. But the image itself hasn't really made me sad. It almost feels like fact. I don't know why. It'd be much better with a Samwise. But I could do it alone, I know.

I miss the cold.

I miss the bite of the wind, clawing and searching, trying to find a gap in my coat so it can flow through my skin and slow my blood. I miss opening my jacket, just for a moment, and letting the cold in. It was like coming back to life. But I didn't have to die.

I miss closing my eyes and feeling like I was in a cloud. Everyone thinks being in a cloud would be like being in a soft bed. I really don't think so. I think it'd be as comforting (for me), but it would be cold. And turbulent. It was so peaceful.

I miss the cold. And the mountains. And the turbulent peace.

Ethan Frost..