The Heart Still Beats Under Ice

The news rolls across the screen and you feel nothing. Just a flat, hollow silence where your anger used to be.

You watch yourself watching the world burn, and a new terror takes root: that this numbness is not a shield, but a symptom. That you are slowly becoming the cold thing you despise.

But listen — the monster does not weep over its own hardness. The monster does not lie awake at night afraid of what it has become.

This ache you feel is not the absence of love. It is love with nowhere to go.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it — not even the darkness inside your own chest. You are not turning to stone.

You are surviving the weight of too much sorrow. The very fact that you are terrified of your own numbness proves the heart is still beating underneath the ice.