I suffer this journey every night.

My feet fall hard against rocky soil and expectation, the aches and sores that manifest in my muscles and bones stinging like the ox goad with every step. The cold that permeates the air saps the warmth from my overexerted body. Behind me drags the burden I was given to carry, a burden I can’t lift, and it plows the ground as I go, tilling through the roots of my sensibilities.

I bear this load every night.

Not for the ones who gave it to me. With kind, smiling faces they offer to trade for favors I don’t owe. They bring me water for my thirst and spill it in my way, turning the ground to mud. Not for the masses who line my path. They watch me with oblique faces, waiting for me to pass by. I do it for myself alone.

I fight this loneliness every night.

My only constant companion is the cold. Its frozen hands grip my fingers, the touch of its skin against mine leaves me frostbitten and its kisses draw blood from my lips, but I have grown accustomed to it. I have easily resigned myself to the sensation of its embrace, never realizing its been with me my whole life.