Ice on the Sheets

I don't miss those icy mornings when we woke up to the impending stillness in the absence of leaky radiators blowing their tops.

I don't miss the dread I felt at knowing I'd eventually have to break out of my cocoon and strip off the hat, gloves and three layers on top and bottom before dragging myself to the shower.

But I definitely miss the creaky floors of that old apartment and bounding from my room to the kitchen at the signal of our whistling teapot, hoping I could get there before it cracked the tired windowpanes.

I miss my room and the way the south sun lit it up like an amber gemstone, waking me up much earlier than my roommates.

For that matter, I miss my roommates--for so many reasons--but especially for the laughter that always spoke where the radiators remained speechless.