Cold Hands

Cold hands. Feet up. Lying in a damp car. My bones feel damp. Rain drops rolling down the window. The fresh, cool air knocking on the doors. We refuse to answer until morning. It's time to curl up. Warm my fingers under the covers. It's bittersweet. I crave warmth, but warmth doesn't always go hand in hand wihh adventure. And it's adventure I desire.