I Shiver

I shiver.

The sun is still out, but it’s cold. I shuffle in my seat a little, trying to get as comfortable as a person can on an old wooden bench.

But the view is lovely.

My face hurts from the cold. I pull my shirt over my mouth, hoping that it will help, but I might as well have done nothing at all. My teeth chatter.

But the way the sunset reflects off the pond is beautiful.

I’m not sure what season it is, just that I can’t feel my fingertips. Soon I won’t be able to use my pen to finish this poem.

But the sky is simply gorgeous.

What’s the point? Why stay out here? But I want to. And am actively choosing to do so. But is it worth it to experience pain and suffering if it means you get something nice in return?

It was too much for me and I rushed inside for warmth. Now the pretty view is gone. I can still see it from the window, but it’s tainted. It’s not real. 

And despite being warm, I shiver.