I strip by the mirror, and mindlessly stare.
Defenseless – as always, but now I’m aware.
The wind’s never late; I have to keep steady.
    The cold of this world won’t wait 'till you’re ready.

I run to the shower. My favorite place.
The droplets are warm – they run through my face,
My shoulders relax, the steam fills the air.
    The cold of this world won’t bother me there…

Away from the wind, but not from my brain,
Which echoes my worries wherever I’m in.
Anxiety blossoms, and grows unrestrained.
    The cold of this world is born from within.

At last the world calls. Which facts will unfold?
Which one of my fears reality holds?
I’m not ready.
No one is.
I have to be bold.
    The cold of this world.
    I must face the cold.