I flipped through my journal quickly, not wanting to stop long enough to read a hurtful memory.  I could feel my heart get dozens of paper cuts as I made it to page 50.   I took out a black gel pen with a thin point and began to scrawl out letters until my hand began to get a sharp pain. If someone could read my mind, they would be in tears. After tucking away the composition notebook in a nightstand drawer; I decided to lie down. I tightened my muscles then slowly began to relax them starting from my toes to my face, deep breaths filled the otherwise silent room as I attempted relaxing.    My efforts were seeming to prove fruitless, so I took a shot of cough medicine to help myself sleep.  There is nothing wrong with getting some help.  Before the moment of blissful brain dead arrived, I was stuck pondering the deeper meanings of life.

My alarm clock began to sound off, the constant beeping eventually burying itself deep in my brain. In silent anger, I opened my eyes and slammed the snooze button with my clenched fists.  It was looking like today was going to be one of those days were it just seems to drag on, though that describes almost everyday.  I placed my feet to the cold ground and stood. My pajama pants that had crumpled up while I was sleeping now fell to my ankles.  I tightened the drawstrings on the brightly colored pants and went over to my dresser that sat against the pale wall.  With a firm pull the drawer came open. 

My wardrobe consisted of very floral patterns.  I dug around until I could find a t-shirt that I felt like wearing.  My hands decided on pulling out the softest shirt I owned that had the phrase, “the quietest people, have the loudest minds.” My best friend Elizabeth had gotten it for me though she never saw me wear it outside of the comfort of my home. I marveled at the shirt for a little while until I was broken out of my trance.  The thick red circle on the glossy surface of my calander told me that it was the last Sunday of the month. There was nothing extremely special about this day, just the fact that I got through a full month.  Though I was feeling rather sluggish and wanted to go back to bed, I forced myself to go into the kitchen.  I placed the clear tea pot on the burner of my stove.  With a flick of the wrist a flame sprouted out from the metal surface. I waited till effervescence appeared in the water then  gently tugged at the strings of a small velvet bag that held my tea.  Once opened, I was able to reach my thin hand into the bag to retrieve the small ball of tea.  I placed the ball in my left hand and poked at it cautiously. With a quiet plop the ball of tea was dropped into the pot.  The ball slowly began to open up, sprouting into a fierce flower.  The thin parts of the flower were red and contrasted with the white of the rest of the kitchen.  The blossoming tea was the only amount of color I allowed into my dull space.  The need to decorate my dwelling never fell upon me. 

After awhile of the fragile flower soaking, I turned off the stove.  I slipped on an oven mitt and took the pot that held the jasper red liquid over to the table.  I set it down next to my goldfish’s vase and then pulled up a second chair.  I sat in my usual spot and propped my feet on the other chair.  Once settled,  I poured tea into my mug.  Before I took a sip of the freshly brewed tea, I gently clanked the edge of my cup to the top of the fish bowl.

“Cheers,” I told my goldfish. 

The small fish just chose to swim around in confusion in his translucent bowl.   All that fish seemed to worry about was the food that my fingers would hold above his bowl and release if he came to skim the top of the water with his lips.  I gripped my cup tightly and stared off in the direction of the stove.  Then I felt it, that small sharp pain in my heart.  I gripped my chest with one hand, no comfort coming from the grasp I had on the fabric that covered my chest.  This feeling was purely mental, and I knew that, but it just felt so physical.  How could such a deep feeling of loneliness kill me so much?  And how could I mourn over something I never had.  This terminal feeling always seemed to get worse in the winter; with fifty feet of snow outside I could feel my eyes growing heavy.

  I set down my tea and rested my head on the table.  I closed my eyes, a quiver of breath coming from the small gaps between my lips.  I let myself fall asleep even though I had just woken up. I found that when I get these minor panic attacks the best thing to do is just rest.  At least in my dreams there was some form of hope.  But as I slept no dreams came to me, just a recurring thought of loneliness.

My eyes opened, vision blurry.  I could feel the goop in my eye sticking to my lashes and knew that there was a collection of drool on the edge of my lips.  I wiped it away and reached for my tea.  It was cold.  The temperature of the tea didn’t bother me, I would have felt guilty wasting it anyway.  I took it and nursed at it until the only thing left was residue from the leaves of the tea flower. As I sat with my knees brought close to my chest, my eyes fixated on nothing in particular, I realized it has been about a week since I last got the mail.

I reluctantly got up from my chair, my aching bones seeming to make small noises of discomfort.  I hissed at the small amount of pain walking seemed to give me, but soon became quiet again once the stiffness passed.  I slipped on a pair of white snow boots, and carelessly threw on a blue jacket.  A gust of cold winter air hit me as I opened the door.  The breeze screamed harshly at me, refusing to stop until I stepped outside and shut the door behind me.  When the door shut, a peaceful silence settled in.  The snow was ineffable, nearly blinding.   I squinted and trudged through its thick mass.  Unfortunately for me, I live at the end of a very long driveway, so the cold had a better opportunity to attack my jacket.

I tugged at the mailbox until the bent metal door opened.  Letters spit out of the box, some of them getting away because I was not quick enough to catch them.  I took the arm full of mail, that I managed to catch, and started the journey back up to my barren house.  I stopped when one of the letters fell out of my hand.  I looked down at it, the only thing visible being a  blue ribbon and black cursive letters of two people's names. 

Elizabeth and Jack.

  Immediately I knew what it was. Throwing the mail I was holding to the side I bent down in front of the letter. The snow did not hesitate to soak into my pants causing the skin underneath the fabric to turn raw and red. I picked the envelope up, feeling the urge to just tear it up into little pieces of confetti.  A war was beginning in my head, should I even open it? I slowly tore at the invitation, the harsh sound of the paper seal penetrating the silence instilled by the winter season.  The small slip of paper nestled in the envelope caused all of my thoughts to stop and my hands to tremble.  It was an invite to my best friends wedding.

I forgot about the mail and ran into the house. I forced myself to leave the invitation on the kitchen table and go to the shower.  I took off my clothes, struggling a bit with the back of my bra, my frost bitten hands seemed to be trembling more than I would have liked to admit.  The water turned to the hottest settings and I jumped in.  Brushing through my blonde hair I tried to keep the past out of my head.  The memories that were stored in my head decided to join in with the water that ran down my body and gathered at my feet. A sinking feeling in my stomach cursed me, making my body rack with a creeping fear. My breath turned sharp, clinging to the bar on the side of the tub seemed to be the only thing to calm down the panic that beat me.  Not being able to stand, I sat down at the bottom of the tub. As the water grew in heat it seemed to thrust itself into my bare skin like bullets.  I let tears seep out of my eyes and blend into the water that cascaded down. The only thing I was able to see was the specks of water that broke the surface of my eyes.

I  took the invitation from the table and, sliding my feet across the wooden floors exhausted,  made it to my room. I set the piece of paper down on the dresser and opened the closet door.   On the top shelf sat a grey box that seemed to be in perfect condition.  I scowled at the box and stood on my tiptoes to retrieve it.  Kneeling in front of the box,  I carefully took off the lid and pulled out a pair of heels.  I strictly wore these shoes to weddings and somehow they seem to be more worn out than any other shoes I own. My facial expression was stoic as I  held the shoes.  After a very long time of staring at the tired heels, I placed them to the side and took the wedding invite.  I placed the once cared for envelope into the box with all of the photos, invites, and thank you notes from all of the previous weddings I attended.  Caught in nostalgia, I moved the pictures around and took out one that meant the most to me.  It was taken at the very first wedding I was ever a part of. 

My childhood friend, Debra, was getting married to her highschool sweetheart.  A few years after the wedding he ended up getting her pregnant.  Such a blessing for her and I hate to admit it for fear of sounding selfish, but we never had the chance to speak again. I dropped the photo and watched as it fluttered helplessly down into the box.  I closed the lid and picked back up the shoes.  The soles had been badly damaged, making me frown.  They were my only plain shoes and went well with every dress I was forced to wear.  The only choice I seemed to have was to go to a cobbler.  So I stood up, leaving the shoe box in the center of the room, and decided to take a trip to the nearest cobbler.

I took a pilgrimage to the far corner of my street.  To my surprise, I was not the only person waiting at the bus stop.  I ducked into the plastic box that guarded us from the snow and waited for the bus to arrive.  With a great wave of gray slush, the bus came to a stop.  Its doors opened stiffly and the crowd of people pushed their way into its belly.  I was the last one to get on the bus, which I didn’t mind;  I had planned on taking a standing spot anyway.  The bus’s haul seemed to be merely a herd of coats with faint hints of human’s underneath.  With my shoes held tightly in my left hand, I made my way to the center of the bus.  The pole that ran vertically was cold and not pleasant to hold onto as the bus rocked its way to its next stop.  The most alien silence came upon me.  This silence was caused by the people around me talking non-stop.  The chatter seemed to place me in a clearly marked box that read, recluse.  I seemed to draw no attention to myself except from a small girl that was sitting on her mother’s lap.  But with a casual glance in her direction I soon realized that she wasn’t looking at me.  She was simply caught in sonder.

The bus rolled up to my stop, me being the only one getting off.  I shuffled over to the cobbler’s shop which I have never been in before.   A small rusted bell, that hung above the door frame, rang when I opened the door, but I paid no mind to it.  I sauntered into the store surprised to see how many shoes were in the place.  The interior was not what I had expected, it reminded me more of a used book store but instead of books, there were shoes.  Ticket orders scattered the ground and fluttered up as I walked through them.  I place my shoes on the cork counter and look down at them.  Because my head was tilted, the liquid that ran loose from the cold dripped down past my nostrils.  I pressed my sleeve to my nose, wiping away the excess of the tacky liquid. I snorted it back and rung the small bell that was near the cash register.  The bell on the counter seemed to be more high pitched and audible than the one near the door. When I heard someone approaching I looked up to be caught in the gaze of the first person ever to leave me breathless. An unfamiliar surge of hope filled me and was satisfied when the man spoke.

“Hello...I...like your shoes…” I could see the expression of his face change to one of embarrassment by the stupidity that passed his mouth.  I laughed and gave him a nod, my hands pressed in my pockets. Once I realized I wasn’t speaking words I choked out a thanks. He heard me coughing and leaned forward, as if to catch me if I decided on fainting.  Once my cough cleared up he asked me something I wasn’t exactly expecting.

“Pretty bad cough you got there. Do you maybe..uh...wanna get some coffee later?” He tilted his chin down, asking in a sweet way that made my heart speed up.

“I’m more of a tea person,” I replied, hoping my joking comment didn’t sound too much like a rejection.

His face turned a light pink, “oh. I w-was never a coffee person,” He looked down at the shoes, taking them behind the counter, “tea sounds good…”

I smiled, “Tea sounds lovely.”