iceberg

There's an iceberg. You can see the top, and it isn't small or anything. But it isn't too big or bad or scary. At least until you steer a massive luxury ship of people into it...and realize it is 10 times bigger underneath the water, the part hiding is bigger than could have been imagined. And it's pure, cold, hard ice. I hate the cold. And I hate feeling like I am navigating a huge ship of people [actually it's just a huge ship with me....] and seeing the iceberg and, well,  just paying attention to the part above the surface. Why would I worry about what I can't really see or understand? That is, of course, until I slam into all of that hard, icy stuff and my ship crumbles and I possibly drown. Or just freeze while lying on a piece of floating wood. Stupid iceberg. Stupid me. Some times, during some days I feel like I have already hit the iceberg, and am just staying afloat, not really sure of my direction or of what I want. I didn't realize I would lose some meaning in the life with those things I abandoned, didn't realize I would have nights with hardly any sleep one after the other, didn't realize I would be so cold every night I tucked myself in.

I hate the cold.