"I hear your heartbeat in the frozen snow. It was left out there years ago when I laid beside you with negative intentions. What was it that you promised me? What did you promise them instead? I look out into the blank slate of nature, coated in the most dangerous blanket nature could ever manifest. I still hear it. It's slow, steady, and pulses in my mind endlessly. Why won't you leave me alone? Was that a part of this twisted promise that you brought upon both of us? Upon them, too? What purpose did they serve if you knew that promise was never going to come to fruition. Hypocritical you are. We all are. None of these flimsy words would ever make a difference in our actions, would they?"
"My heart lays in the snow next to yours, frozen yet still beating. What you sold to my soul was something that could never fix these broken words that fall from my mouth. Too many strings of words rang out like a chiming shepherd's bell. A bell that is chipped, metal is worn by the wind. What did I do? What did we do? Memories of us together are being covered in layer after layer until I can no longer remember what you looked like." "Any pictures of what once was were left at a home far beyond what we can return to. Did they get buried with you? Has the ice tainted them, broke them apart, and degraded what we had left? I miss you. You know this. Even they know this, as much as they do not care for us. I miss you. I can't keep missing you. I have to keep missing you. It's only natural, is it not?"
"Welcome home. There is no such thing. The warmth and the cold crossroads at the doorway, yet there is no difference in safety. Life or death, this wooden door means very little to nature. Besides, my heart is out there with yours, remember? I have not felt true warmth since. No touch has cared to caress the frozen ice the way that your words once had. I can hear you beating in my ears, in my chest, in the wounds the ice pierces. The wooden flooring is no different than the ice we once skated on. It is no less fragile than that same rink. The rink, the rink..." "Do you remember it? The pulse that goes through me says that you do not. Were you conscious in that cavern of memories, or was it blocked from your mind? Have you blocked me out, too? Blocked them out the very same way? What do you remember out in that whiteness? Can you still make angels? It must be odd making something in the image of... something. What even were those things that we made out there? Remember it for me, because I most certainly can't. Remembering what was done and what is here grows more difficult the longer the cold lingers..."
"Frosted windows obscure an already blurred view. Cotton sheets no longer remain fluffed and warm. I cannot remember the last time I had properly gone outside, if not to visit our hearts. The beat that drums through my body continue to distract me every moment I continue on with your heart in that white gravestone. Pillows are flattened and chilled, lanterns dimmed to only what is necessary. I cannot miss what I never truly had to begin with. What do you consider to 'have' out there? It is such an abstract concept to 'have' something... As concrete as holding something may be, my hands cannot feel you, and thus they cannot feel at all." "What color was your hair? Your favorite flavor? I can feel myself convulse in disgust, yet I am too empty to dare let anything out. Not a peep will be made from the shepherd or the sheep. A crackling fireplace is cackling with meaningless noise as it is put out for the night. Obscure sight with wool or cotton, it does not matter when the reminders continue to pulse. In the darkness, there is more comfort than in the light. What is it that you saw once your eyes closed out there? Was it the calmest sight that you could imagine? What did you imagine... when you tore our hearts out?"
"White is the darkest color, wouldn't you say?"
"You cannot say anything, but I know that would be my truth."
"The pounding of your heart in my veins will only end... Once the rest of my body meets my heart and becomes nothing but the darkest color."