There is a bomb in my chest

Two sensations have been with me my entire life, or least as far back as I can remember. These two companions are constant and somehow comforting in their familiarity. The first is an unending sense of warmth, like my torso is a wood stove constantly burning. It is never uncomfortable and very handy in the Canadian Winter. I don’t often get chilled to bone cold, rather a sheen of cold that sits across my skin, but does not penetrate. This has been a source of great comfort to those who have shared a bed with me, as I am the single largest source of heat in the room, and immediately available.