[lastyvesniin] Plasma (231218)

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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

Plasma.

.

.

.

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

💚

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Yves: Don't worry, for I am quite the charismatic person