Cold Walk

A man, a simple man, strolls in through the cold and wind with his gazes never reaching the eyes of the warm hearted that pass him. He strolls past shops of radiating beauty, comfort, and bliss. He still strolls past. Never looking up, never looking forward. His strides are long and smooth, much the same with the lines in his wool overcoat that hangs low. The blistering wind creeps up his sleeves and chills his bones. Frost settles on his brows and chin, ever slowing him down. This simple man is on a mission, a goal that will never end. Once when the snow was warm and the light was brighter he had found reasons to all the madness in the world. He had found the answers to life itself, the greatest solution to the world’s toughest question, a question that has never been asked. He knew that answer and now he must pay the price. For once this man knew everything that there was suppose to be known about life, but something changed. It wasn’t the wind, it wasn’t the weather, and it wasn’t the time. No it was himself. He found out that there is greater truth in man kind, the people that walk around him rather then over him. He isn’t a god, he isn’t a higher purpose. He is only a man. He is a man that knows what to feel when to feel. He is a man with a broken heart looking for solitude in the cold and distant future. So he strides towards his cold and nearing death, but for some reason he stops. A door opens, a door the color of the deepest forest, deeper then that of any other pure color. And what stands there in the door but the reason for his down fall, his love. His every though and every dream, every emotion and desire. He looks up, tears frozen to his face, emotion in his soul. This is the man, this is the woman, and this is their fate. For he knows that he is sorry, she knows that she is sorry. But they can’t forgive each other for what they themselves have done to one and another. So they turn and walk. They walk away form what is known to be true. Walking away form what could have been and should have been. So that is love. He turns back to take one last look, one last hope, one last emotion, and turns the corner. For around the bend the strings of fait have woven him a new path and she stands there hailing a cab. Out of the corner of her eye she notices the cold and distant soul that strides her way. He speaks up; she speaks words of angels, words of goddess, and words of hope. “Pride may be, pride be that. Know that in your loss there shall be fortune, fortune for another day. Life has many twist and many bends. You just need to know when to turn those bends and find that love his waiting. You are cold, so join me. And let pride be pride.”