He always preferred the cold. The shivering pressure that would surround you till you feel the need to run. The cold that seeped into you lungs and slowed you reactions. The cold that could be so white and pretty is really the most dangerous part of the year. The cold would lick up you arms and struck your feet, it would freeze your blood and slow you heart, it could feel as if you burning but still you are cold. It fascinated him, it drew him in.
The way the cold would be soothing at the beginning then slowly it goes a little further, then your laying there freezing shivering and slow, dying because of the beautiful snowflakes they turned your skin a light blue, an blue that drew your attention, it was excillerating to feel the winter's breath flow against you face as if saying sorry when you let you last breath join and fog the air.
The cold was his home, it embraced him, loved him. He was favored by the cold he was the most familiar with its effects, its sudden hurtful feeling that made you want to scratch you skin so it was free of it hand. It fascinated him that the winter drew people in with beauty but killed with the worst kind of brutality, the soft kind in which that made you think that it was sorry, innocent, still beautiful. Always beautiful.
He always preferred the cold. The winter. The sharp pains it brought and the soothing winds. The cold would always be there for him because no one could take that away, the cold wasn't alive, killable or dead, no one could rid the world of the dangerously beautiful winter's cold.
Dedicated by: Hannah's constant hate of the cold and my love to winter and its loving caresses.