Cold. The word is cold.

Even as I felt the sweltering heat on my skin, the burning sand on my feet, in the wind, on my clothes, between each of my fingers, I felt cold. It was the only word that came to mind when I searched that empty landscape, the only phrase on my tongue that did the feelings I had any justice.

Cold. Cold. Cold.

In this unending desert, I was freezing to death. I had no love, no warmth, no arms to wrap around me that would banish the unforgiving tendrils of ice that crept through my veins. In this desert, I was alone, and it was the coldest I had ever felt.

Cold. That was the word. The only word that poured from my blue lips, the one word I etched in the sand as my fingers became stiff. It was the only word I knew, the only word I spoke, until at last, the numbness overcame me. In that desert, I lay in the sand, frozen, surrounded by cold.

But no, that wasn't quite it.

The word is alone.

Alone.

Alone.