The Art Of Keeping Warm In Emptiness

2024 Author: Harry Day | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-17 15:43

The art of keeping warm in emptiness.

I am so cold, I freeze in this space, I cannot keep warm even by burning myself. I am cold, warm me up, surround me with an impenetrable wall so that the fearless wind does not carry away the warmth of my heart, close me in your palms and breathe on me, breathe. Your breath warms me, I burn and illuminate the path for the two of us, you carry me in your palms and breathe, and I burn and illuminate our path in the silent silence of an impenetrable abyss. Warm me, do not be afraid, let me live in your arms and warm you in return. I'm cold, I'm freezing.

So much has been said, so little is left, choose every word carefully, everything depends on it. Concentrate on wasting, do not be distracted, the moment of destruction is already very close, devastation will inevitably come, it remembers you. Freedom of devastation to the wild roar of the pounding wheels of a subway car, something like this creates meaning, voices, voices, inaudible voices pierce the car with their screams, silent eyes, and hands, hands looking for someone to warm. And emptiness, the platform is full of voids gathered in emptiness, a lot of movement, a lot of thoughts, negligible little air and you want to breathe everything around and come to life on the surface of feelings, wake up in a warm bed from the sun's rays on your face, a play on words, nothing more. Knock, knock.

Snow, it is not cold, it is frozen into my existence as an object of my devotion to the warmth and light, striking right in the eye, deprived of feelings, it hurts, without offense or regret, it just had to be that way. I freeze, and the snow continues to fall, slowly falling in its last dance, resignedly exchanged for the last word, without words, only beauty and death from warmth. He is pure love, freed from contact with the cold, hard, unrequited ground. How can you not die here? After all, everyone wants this: to free themselves from love and warm themselves in the rays of the midday sun. No, not all, not all. And I am freezing, I am part of this cold winter of my soul, I am part of it and the heater in my bed will not help me, I am waiting for warmth, real warmth that blinds and burns the careless slowness of my life. Millions of snowflakes die around me, the dance circles me, I freeze in a round dance of death, I see many palms around me, but no one warms me.

The voice of cold is felt on the skin, it sings a song, blows a melody, blocks the sun from me, blows off your warmth from me, drives away my fumes that surround you. My sun, warm me or freeze with me. I do not want to leave you the last word, I am Kai, and you are the Snow Queen, and you, my cold sun, do not dare to fade away next to me when I so badly need warmth. Alienation swallows us with its toothless mouth, my sun, you are so cold that your palms have turned into door handles that are always closed, I pull them, but in vain. Imagine that I never realized that holding on to the cold handle of a locked door is my way to keep warm. And you, you warm me, but my door is closed, and the handle in my hands turns to ice.

I'm so cold, so cold this winter. Desolation is here, nearby, it embraces me, beckons, says that there is a warm sun, but I do not believe him. No faith in emptiness, no, only

one continuous winter. And snow.