The Frost

Frost lingers near the ground, the kind that just floats effortlessly through the air, I feel cold. Is it that I feel cold, or have I just grown numb. Reaching out to touch the stone of the street, feeling its face, it's texture, surely I'm not dead, I can feel. Taking in a deep breath, the cold air rushing in, stinging every passageway like a thousand needles. Surely I'm alive I can feel. There has never been a time like this before. Standing at a crossroads, the frost seems clearer here. Which road will I choose? Where must I go from here? Will my legs carry me the distance? So many choices, so unclear. It feels like I lost something, something important. Perhaps I will remember soon enough. Frost seems more heavy now, how it eats away at my bare flesh, the cold how it stings. I fall to my knees, the pain is too much, "For the love of God what temperature is it?" I shout outloud. "Dude it's 95 according to the bank sign." says a passerby in Bermuda shorts.