The Heart of Winter

I stepped through the door. I found myself in the bedroom of a small house in the middle of winter. Snow covered the ground outside, and I could feel a dour frigidity permeating the air around me. I've lived here for years. Lying in the bed across the room was someone who I had been romantically involved with for about as long as I've been in this house. A life I once could have had.

As if compelled, I exited the house and made my way towards my car. My body was following its muscle memory despite my having never lived this life before now. The roads in the quiet neighbourhood were only partially cleared of ice and snow. The drive was slow, if uneventful. I arrived at the convenience store I worked at, and entered with the practised motion of someone who has been following this routine for all their life. I began my shift behind the register.

Faceless customers came and went, never more than a handful in the store at any given time. They all made their way towards a certain refrigerator opposite the counter for their drink. It wasn't always everything they bought, but they all bought one. They all walked with the same practised motion of someone who has been following this routine for all their lives. They paid the cost and all walked the same path out of the store. This was my night.

Each day was the same as the last. The same restless sleep from sunrise to sunset, the same uneventful drive to the store. The same customers buying their same drinks. The same monotonous nothingness. This is my life.

One day I drank it, too. That nondescript drink that everyone else drank. It tasted like it should. Like each day would always be the same. Like life wasn't worth living. Like I should give my self up. Like a cold isolating embrace from inside out. Like the heart of winter. 

Like I could be hers. 

If I could go back, would I?