Cold Heart

The fire raged. The cardboard burned hot and fast, making a brief period of total brightness and intense heat. This also produced copious amounts of smoke. Smoke the wind blew toward me. I put my hands over my eyes to block the watery sting and I felt a hand around my shoulder and heard him say “come over here.” I blindly let him guide me to a safer spot and I noticed once the smoke was gone, my hands folded, that his arm was still around my shoulder: very smooth. His thumb unconsciously rubbed up and down my arm, this movement somehow made the gesture more affectionate than if he had simply embraced me. I was ecstatic, random shots of adrenaline pulsed through me, in front of our friends I wasn’t embarrassed, it felt right. But physical contact seems to be the poison of my affections. Not five hours later, we were on the couches outside the cafeteria watching a movie, he had his arm around me; it felt wrong. The passion for him was gone, like a winter wind snuffing a candle. I wanted him to let go of me, for me to leave. It was as though his touch had turned my heart to stone. The affection is gone, even though I want it to come back, I want to feel for him the way I did before.  But the poison of my marble heart spreads to my mind, flashing evidence that I do not love him, that he is not right for me. My mind eventually caves in; my cold heart is very persuasive.