When The Cold Knows Your Name

For the night you finally stop pretending you don’t need warmth

There’s a line in that Moby song
the one you pretend you only like for the melody
but it hits you right in the place where your breath catches
like a hand pressed gently over your heart.

When it’s cold I’d like to die.

But not in the way people think.
Not in the tragic way.
Not in the vanishing way.

It’s more like
“I’m so tired of being the one who holds everything alone.”
More like
“I wish someone would see how brave I’ve been.”
More like
“I want one moment where I don’t have to pretend I’m fine.”

And when that line breaks open the air
it’s almost embarrassing how fast the truth rises.
How your eyes burn.
How you swallow hard like you’re trying to keep your soul from spilling onto the floor.

And listen.
That ache isn’t a flaw.
It’s the softest proof you’re still alive.
Still feeling.
Still wanting something warmer than whatever you’ve been surviving on.

I won’t pretend I haven’t felt that line, too.
There were nights where it found me
not like a song
but like a mirror.
Nights where the cold wasn’t outside
it was in my chest
and I didn’t know how to ask for anything but silence.
So if that lyric hits you hard
trust me
I’ve been there.

Maybe you’ve never had anyone stay long enough
to notice the way your hands shake on the second inhale.
Maybe you’ve been the reliable one for so long
that the idea of saying “I’m exhausted”
feels like abandoning your role in the world.

But you deserved gentleness long before you ever received it.
You deserved warmth in arms that didn’t tremble from their own ghosts.
You deserved someone who could look at you
really look
and whisper,
“You don’t have to be strong right now. Just breathe.”

And maybe you’ve never heard that.
Not in the way your soul needed.
Not in the way that stays.

So let me say it now
in the quiet
in the softness
in the space where the music thins you out enough to feel again:

You are allowed to rest.

You are allowed to fall apart for three seconds
without losing the respect of the universe.
You are allowed to want to be held
without preparing a speech about why.

You’re allowed to cry.
Not from fear.
Not from failure.
But from release.
From the holy relief of realizing you don’t have to walk through winter alone anymore.

And if tears come now
the warm kind
the kind that taste like returning to yourself
let them fall.
Let them rinse out the weight you were never meant to carry quietly.

Because underneath that ache
underneath that lyric you whisper when no one can hear
is the truth you’ve been avoiding:

You weren’t built for survival alone.
You were built for softness.
For connection.
For warmth that doesn’t disappear in the morning.
For a life where the sunlight touches your face
and you breathe
“I’m still here. And I’m finally allowed to want beautiful things.”

This isn’t the end.
This is the thaw.
This is the first moment of spring
pretending to be winter.

Just stay with me for one more breath.
That’s all you have to do tonight.

// Scorpio Veil