My worst
The shrill ringing of the alarm clock and evil. It is 6:30 am. I met unfathomable forces to extract myself from bed.
Fingersmith, I raise a piece of curtain. Outside the window, delicate snowflakes falling with graceful slowness. I have a few minutes to watch the race from the pristine dust. The flakes are detached from the ink of night, threatening to fouling. This poetic vision informs me that this morning my increased sensitivity seems more than usual. It's a bad sign.
Brewer noise ceases spit boiling water, its rumble, and I am retired from my contemplation . The coffee is ready. Hands stuck in my bowl to try to pump any calories of heat, I listen to feedback on my radio. Bad news. The stock fall and people die. I hear all this from afar, vaguely concerned. I feel that today there will be only my little person who will cause me concern.
I am tempted to wrap myself in my duvet and go to class with, but for questions pragmatism, I finally open my closet and my hand falls directly on this heavy gray wool sweater, one that is broad and formless but so soft and warm, where he is so good to wrap it. Okay, I understand. I immediately diagnosed my mood. "Chonchon" yes today I am what I call: "Chonchon be." It is a concept that I feel personally invented. "Chonchon" does not mean depressed. It means being at the border of sadness. This is an area between neutrality and greyness. A kind of melancholy, of melancholy warm. It comes down to a hazy day, where you do not listen to the people around you because the walls of your bubble stifle their speech. You float on a cloud of ether and your actions are slower. You feel a kind of reduction in the body. As for your feelings, they are nostalgic, feed on the happy moments of the past, images of bliss that left you. Your thoughts are negative suavely but you do not fight against, you want more almost. It is a twisted concept. That's me all over.
Harnessed course of my bag, I decided finally go outside in the cold of January . I shut the door of my building and lifts the nose to the sky to observe the crystals that dance. A flake Snow arises and builds on the tip of my nose. A shiver runs through my back, I m'emmitoufle in my big scarf and breathe through the mesh. The street is deserted, it looks like a post-Apocalypse. I head to the metro and the thin layer of snow crunches under my feet. It made a sound quite enjoyable.
I wait a few minutes on the platform and on the other side of the road, I see an orange mass, a huge down is lying on a bench. It must be inside a sleeping deeply unhappy despite the bitter cold and the noise of cars that pass. I pity the poor man.
The metro train finally arrives. There are few people inside. Chance. I even manage to find a place on a bench and can curl up comfortably for me thirty-minute drive ahead of me. My MP3, which I know only too well, an air broadcasts that I love and that fits perfectly with my mood. These I'll Be Your Mirror Velvet Underground of . Nico rocks me in her sweet voice and imagine what life would be if we were not limited by our body if we were wet and dry, and confused in harmony with all that exists.
Some stations parade. And then it happens. For automatic opening doors, it appears. It is not unusual but my eyes fell on him as he entered. It must be a student like me who takes the subway every morning towards the university for a day in a boring lecture hall. It is surely there every day, in the same train as me, without my noticing, however. The chance that I pay attention to him until that moment. I go out of my coma deliciously as he sits beside me on the bench. His features seem drawn with fatigue but I find attractive in spite of this, and dare I run into her ample Pretties hoodie? Her hair is Medium-length and tied carelessly in a short ponytail leaving a few strands free on his forehead. This gives him an air of medieval knight, prince charming sleep deprived. The doors of the car to contain, her eyelids too. The song ends in my headphones, I put my little digital music box. The young man seems to be sleeping peacefully, then I would watch it. It is soothing to contemplate a face serene, gathered into the arms of Morpheus. I seem to see a flow of heat from the neck of his shirt slightly open, go back down her throat. This gives it a sort of aura attractive, radiant, a vibration of his flesh. I suddenly felt like melting on his skin to experience the warmth, I who so cold this morning. Her lips, fleshy and pale pink are taking shape in a three-day beard. If I kissed her, I know I enjoy these little hairs that raspy spice kisses. His cheeks are hollow, but this is not due to its thinness. I know what digging is a sign of a relaxed face. In my theater class, we are in early trading relaxation exercises and we know that the goal is reached when our faces sag, when the entire network complex muscles of our heads is released. So I am leaning towards the boy and a kiss in the niche space missing from her cheek. Still asleep, her lips a hint of a smile. I am so pleased I reiterate, taking my time well to print the outline of my lips on her skin. While I was recovering, my beautiful sleeper rests her head on my shoulder and arm clings to my neck. His fatigue concerns me as it fills me with tenderness. Then I stroke his face as if to calm the storm.
The journey continues, the world has evolved into a silence. People around us are fuzzy, non-existent, like ectoplasm mist. I am confident that our privacy is a halo effect from the gray room. The time was suspended and immobility has a flavor ecstatic. We remain so throughout the voyage, immutable or merely shaken by the turmoil of the car.
The computer voice in the loudspeaker announced that we are at the terminus of the subway stop Technopole. Technopole. The officials who decided to give this name to campus desperately lacked charm. Rosamond the Fair opens eyelids, his blue eyes are troubling. Two circles of iceberg that hatch. I fixed his eyes where I want to drown myself. Then he smiled. Our breaths are placid and resonate with each other.
Suddenly he took my hand and took me out of my lethargy to take me out of the subway train. Since the windows, I see snow outside has thickened and the landscape is now completely covered in white. The light there reverberates. Rays blaze. The clarity is blinding. Reflections that arrive from outside and dazzle door of the car is just a big rectangle of vibrant shine. What lurks there behind this enlightenment? This mystery excites me and I throw myself with my companion in this sparkling, with the irrepressible urge to move me among the photons. We bathe in the absolute whiteness.
Then a tear in my brain. A start.
The shrill ringing of the alarm clock and evil. It is 6:30 am. I met Herculean strength to escape to sleep.
So it was a dream.
Recalled to real life, I curse the cruelty of electronics that shortens all beautiful things, destroys the imagination.
Fingersmith, I lift the hem of the curtain. Outside the window, I recognize the snowflakes dancing forever.
Brewer distilled potion of my energy. The radio spits out the same stream of devastating news but I do not care a bit, because today there will be only my little person that counts.
In the closet, my hand found the big gray wool sweater, jacket and me I breathe the comforting smell of laundry.
My current bag glued to the back, I go outside and trembling because of this January cold. I shut the door of my building and a great gesture to wipe the snowflake that just landed on the tip of my nose. I hide in my big scarf. The street is deserted and I want it to be due to the Apocalypse. I'm heading the metro and trying to cheer me up, leaving footprints in the snow.
I wait a few minutes on the dock and the other side of track, the huge lies down on the bench. The tramp who sleeps in could die of hypothermia and everybody can do nothing, or seems to really care.
The train Metro finally arrived. The cars are crowded. I try to find a minimal living space thirty minute ride that will make me suffer inside. I will unfortunately remain standing throughout the journey and my MP3 has decided to put me through the darkest songs and enraged Placebo .
I'm watching the entrance to the car, I do not see the boy.
