Ever Burning

It was the time of night that the air was dead still. No wind. No noise. It was just his footsteps echoing out around him as his shoes squeaked against the snow.

The cold bit down hard on his skin wherever it was exposed. Latching onto the back of his neck, the bottom of his ears - attacking anything it could. His breath immediately froze as it left his mouth. Leaving a magnificent stream of silver haze in front of him to walk through - stinging his cheeks. He loved the darkness between the sparsely laid streetlights. He felt hidden. It never lasted long, but he enjoyed being lost in the shadows. Blending into the dark. There was something liberating about walking along the waterfront late at night. He was always alone - never once running into someone else, a runner, someone on a bike, or another casual stroller, like himself. The path before him was all his once the sun went down and the moon took office overlooking the city.

The longer he walked, the colder it got. The quieter it became. Aside from his breathing and shoes digging into the snow and pulverized salt, all that made a sound was the ice on the water. He could hear it shifting and cracking. Groaning against the current. Moaning into the darkness. It seemed to spread out forever - echoing towards the bright lights of the city. Struggling to hold itself together. When it did crack, near or far, the sounded rocketed by. Like a whip snapping tight accompanied by a strong surge of electricity. Something foreign to his ears. Unlike anything else. But it sounded right. As if there was no other sound that would make sense.

As he kept along the path, chin tucked into the top of his jacket, pushing against the cold, he felt empty. It wasn't the lack of other people around or the darkness between streetlights. It was how dead everything felt. The naked trees. The starless sky. The lack of noise. It was like he was in a void. Wandering alone on the outskirts of the city.

But strangely enough, he didn't feel lonely. He never did.

When he reached the end of the path, he turned around and began walking back, towards home. One clear goal in mind. He had to keep his fire going. To stay warm. Fight the encroaching cold. It had been a little bit since he had last stoked it - but he wasn't concerned.

There had never been a time that the embers hadn't been glowing bright. Waiting. Ready to reignite.