Would that I lived without emotion;

Cold, separate, void.

To live without this:
It is not the emotions themselves I fear

But the confusion, the fear they engender;

Doubting the source, fearing the target.

Much better then,

To live as though upon a frozen throne –

Were it not for the agony ice itself creates

That whole void,

That hole where the memory of warmth would sit,

Like a star turned black.

I still fear being turned in these tides,

Riding waves I can scarce comprehend,

And so I am torn –

To live a life bearing this worldly weight,

Tossed directionlessly about like a twig in rapids;

But alive, terribly, gloriously, alive.

Or to close within a shell;

Safe, yes, but cold.

While all else goes on without.