The following is purely a work of fan fiction. I have no claim to any character(s) used.
I never feel the cold. I soar through the vacuum between the sun and Earth, and I never feel the cold.
It's only at times like this, when I'm losing to the very photons that give me power, racing ahead of me on their eight minute trip to my adopted home. The times when I'm truly alone. You would think it would be just the fact that I'm out here, no ship to propel me, no oxygen but what I carry in my lungs, no suit other than the one everyone recognizes. But, it's always that I can't feel any difference between here and being firm footed on Earth that makes me regret that I don't feel as they do, see as they do.
Anything, as they do.
I've been interviewed 13,650 times. And no one has ever asked me if I feel any of it. The cold, the heat, the bullets and missiles. The strain of lifting hundreds, sometimes millions, of tons. They never ask me what's it like to watch every person I care about, I love, growing old right before me.
They always ask what it's like to fly, or whether or not I think I can stop whatever world ending crisis is threatening them. But never how any of it actually feels.
I always linger out here. Hoping that the special communicator I carry doesn't vibrate, carrying the signal from the satellite I put into orbit for just that reason. Hoping that I'll have just a few more minutes before someone sends the call telling me that something has happened, that someone needs me. A few more minutes to see if I feel it.
I love my home. I love the people I protect. I just wish, sometimes, I could feel the cold.
The signal.