Forgettable

My toy is myself.  I love my sensitive toy. I play with my toy to feel a second of joy in the darkest years. I hug my toy to know how it feels like to be hugged.

I wrapped myself in the scarf, hat, jacket. I walked down the stairs, into the heavy snow. "How do you go back?" "On foot." "Is it far?" "Not far." "Be safe." "Um." Some conversation that I haven't heard, like for centuries. Just feel uncomfortable to communicate like this.

"At the moment you said you love me, your love for me was over. At the moment your love for me was over, my love for you started." From a crime movie.

In the their chat about where to celebrate the new year, they suddenly told me they'd like to go to my home for the celebration. I laughed and said OK no problem, as if I really had a home that everyone was happy to host guests, as if I really had a home with a big enough kitchen table to let several friends to sit down and enjoy food, as if I've been living a normal happy life.  I'm no more than a homeless candle in the snow, dripping the last few drops of wax.

All the rain became snow this morning. A layer of snow is piling up in the outside world. Yet I'm wearing my green short-sleeve shirt.

4 AM, bathroom, I took out the red tube of ointment behind the mirror, applied it onto the left belly, shoulders and neck, to ease the pain, which is a protest to the 12 hours of manual work.

There was a wound around my broken tooth which may possibly have exposed the nerves, but I don't feel any wound now. New flesh has grown to cover the wound like a magic. My body is the only being that can erase my physical pain practically. At least my body loves me, I feel solace.