I’ve been here a long time. I don’t really notice it anymore. 

Walking around Seattle in 60 degree weather, I’m surrounded by people in puffy designer jackets bundled against the weather. I’m in a tank top.  “How are you not cold?” M only response is, “I don’t get cold.” Most shake their heads while others insist on telling me I’m crazy. Lady, that’s not even the 10th craziest thing about me. I thought about it once – why I don’t  feel cold. It’s not unlike my insane tolerance for pain. The cold is different. It’s a minor irritation at best.  I’ll often get annoyed by my shivering before the idea that I’m cold sets in.

I’ve slowly developed an immunity to cold over the past 20 years. Deep down inside where I’m completely alone there’s a chill to rival any inclement weather. A lonely frightened girl standing in the snow, shoulders hunched against biting wind. Against the backdrop of a frosty night, her eyes are big and limbs are pale. The only people that see me are other lonely wanderers. Looking for shelter from the Nothing as it consumes and then regurgitates existence. If I had a luck dragon I wouldn’t wish for all the things I’ve lost. Except Artex, I’d always bring him back.