My bones are made of ice. It doesn't matter how many sweaters or pairs of flannel pyjama pants you layer on when your bones are made of ice. The cold comes from within.

I am brittle and unbending. I move slowly, carefully, and my ice bones clickety clack with every step I take.

I feel ancient but without the wisdom or the peace I imagine comes with the passing of many decades. I feel silly and sad but mostly I feel numb.