Frozen Wishie

He slowly walked towards the grass. Each one of the tiny green needles was covered in a thin coat of frosting. He got there, took his shoes off, then his socks, put them in the shoes and, after lifting both shoes with his left hand, stepped into the green patch. 

Every step felt wonderful, he closed his eyes and listened to the slightly crushing sound produced each time he'd break the frost with his feet. A tingling sensation would come now and then; between the toes, on the slight arch formed in the middle of each foot, on the heels. After a few steps though, his toes started to go numb. He opened his eyes and kept walking. The view hadn't changed much, still the frosted grass, still some trees, and to his right a dried-up dandelion. He went that way, crouched and, though normally he would blow it to send all the tiny seeds flying through the air, touched it ever so gently. It's frozen darts, whiter and thicker than ever, were a fantastic view. Too pretty to destroy it, he left it as it was, stood up and walked to a nearby tree. The grass and soil under its shadow was, naturally, colder than the rest. That seemed a good place.

That would do.

He took his sweater off, then his shirt, then squatted on the spot. His jeans got wet almost instantaneously. A sad, chilly sensation invaded him. He sighed, closed his eyes, took a deep breath and tried to conentrate on that frosty feeling. All the loneliness in his life was concentrating in himself. He thought of the dried-up dandelion. He was the dried-up dandelion, standing alone in a world of frost and grass and pale light. With this image in his head, he layed down on on his back. The chill was almost painful, he felt it go all the way from the soil, to the grass, to the frost, to his skin, through his bones, to his heart. 

Yes. This is a good place.
This will do.

He kept his eyes closed. Drew breath, exhaled, and let go.

I wish...