The frigid chill making my hands feel like they'll split after just a few seconds
Has me shoving my hands back into my pockets.
At times I felt it clumsy and arrogant
This act of putting hands in pockets
But by now, it has become a routine of winter
Just like drinking the night-side water in the morning
Something so natural.
The weather, once so warm unlike winter
Reminded of its presence yesterday with temperatures below freezing
And after looking up the weather the night before
I put on five layers of clothes, and still shivered, and looking at me
My friends asked if I was trying for the clothes-layering Guinness record
And giggled, puffing out smoky breaths like dragons.
A mundane yesterday passed by, as if it's a given
And facing today, very much not a given
Vowing to not repeat yesterday's mistake
I picked out the thick long padded jacked shoved in a corner.
I haven't been working out, but should a jacket be so heavy
Shuffling around the jacket's quite deep pockets
I sense various textures at my fingertips.
Hot packs, so cool as to be hardened
Vitamins, two pills of Tylenol, cafe receipt, two 1000-won bills
One piece of Puccho left and the leftover wrappers
After removing the objects of days gone by, like sandbags, the jacket is light.
I went to toss them, but it was no easy thing to throw them out.
Okay, so let's first toss this rock-like hot pack.
I'll take the vitamins tomorrow, and the Tylenol goes on the kitchen shelf.
What's all this I ate at the cafe, who did I eat with.
They say it's good to carry around cash, guess I'll buy bungeoppang
With such thoughts running through my mind
I popped the last remaining Puccho into my mouth and chewed gamely.
Ever since little, I was pretty good at collecting
But I still find discarding difficult.
When I try to discard, to filter out
As if a fragment of some memory is holding me back
My present-day self stands still, with my back against the future.
When I see my black sprawling shadow with the whites of my eyes, I put in effort to pretend not to notice
And wish for rain to fall from the placid skies
When they collide as to explode, and all things soar
And shatter into pieces
Then peace will seep in again
Taking the plastic garbage of the takeout iced Americano
Crumpling and unfolding it, I recite plasma to myself.
This too is Earth's rubbish
And yet I would still like to be someone useful
Passing by, I saw a florist by coincidence.
Truly by coincidence.
It said that the meaning of the blue rose is "miracle".
What is a miracle?
It is Monday once again!
I am always checking all the comments and attendance markers
I am always feeling grateful and guilty!
Wishing you a happy week
Yves: Don't worry, for I am quite the charismatic person