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Winter Day


In my mind, everything is dark and bitter like coffee from a gas station,
My eyelids swell from the stress and they are unable to close so they peer into the night (Iā€™m not an owl, Iā€™m human, you see),
But in the morning, when the snow thickens and the slush puddles reach my ankles and the sunlight hits me on the cheek (so sweet, so sweet),
I cannot help but to lift my lip in a peculiar, unnatural way, so that it curves like a semi-spiral, this curve, some call it a ā€œsmileā€,
I like to leave my footprints in the fallen white snow, because I like to think that I have made some sort of impact on this world (if not a major one, then at least let me be remembered for tampering with mother nature),
I like to look at the children thrilling themselves by rolling down hills on poorly put-together plastic sleds (but they are rosy and happy),
And mother and father stand by the edge, also smiling but alert, checking their childā€™s safety, the weather, etc.
What a marvelous day, it is a bright day outside indeed, but in my twisted mind (and it is so awfully twisted, like a lemon piece twisted on a salmon fillet) there is barren snow and no children and only the thought of a smile.

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