The Bluestone Review 2025

The Bluestone Review

Shattered in the Cold Ella White

I know winter’s cold. Always cold. But once, it was crisp—sharp, electric, A breath of frost on the sweat-soaked field. I spun my heart out, Arms carving stories through the air, Hands reaching for something just out of grasp. One wrong move. A saber, meant to fly, Fell— Piercing more than just the ground. It sank deep, Right through the fragile thread that held me together. Now winter is not just cold. It is empty. That fire—once pulsing in my chest— Extinguished. Frozen stiff in the dead air, Filling my lungs with splinters of ice. Every turn sends fractures through my bones, Every breath, a quiet surrender. My hands, once weightless, Now cracked and stiff, Aching under the bite of the wind. Once, my fingers danced with flags like whispers— Now they tremble under their weight. Tears threaten, but they never fall. They freeze before they have the chance. Winter feels different this year. And I don’t like it.

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