Cold as stone

I sat down on the wooden pew—

the chill hit like old regrets.

Fingers flipped the hymn book pages,

cracked paper biting at my skin.

Sunlight fought through fractured glass,

broken shards of color cold and dead.

No warmth. Just the slow seep

of damp stone beneath my thighs.

The echoes stayed quiet,

prayers folded into the cold air.

A breath drawn sharp and brittle

like the ice that clung to window sills.

I wanted heat, a pulse—

but only found the frost beneath

this sanctuary’s ancient bones,

and that was enough,

to make me shiver.