1

It’s too cold outside. The only shirt I put on is wet and becomes much thicker.  I feel the snow—snow that has no sympathy, it makes me feel like I am in paradise when far from me, and it takes off its mask and washes the fake making-up as it comes closer, it is freezing me, drawing me back from a world that builds on my imagination. How can all these romantic or realistic poetries describe Snow as an angel, who wears a clean white dress, and has soft lips that attract folks to kiss on? Not For me, a guy who once lost his life, the snow is depriving me of my soul and is eroding my bleeding body.

It is an awful decision. I probably miss the only chance I have to kiss my love and miss the only chance that I can disappear like rising smoke in the morning in this city.  This city has already lost any warmth in any moment people are feeling and existing, things I can see are every common good but covered with pure white. They claim the coming of winter, described as a cold and apathetic devil, stealing happiness and love between me and Maria.

Thanks to the faint light emitting by several street lamps, I finally have the great honor and fortune to see ‘Theodore II’, more clearly than ever. (*the reason why I call him no.2 is to distinguish him from me, although the only difference we have is the love and thoughts for Maria). I see his grey and blue eyes looking down to the macadam, smoke rising from the cigarette between his two bending fingers, dancing waltz and warning him of the coming end through a slight spark.  A lonely man, just like me.

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Things in my head start going strange.  Ruminating with my head low, I almost try my best to avoid seeing directly into his azure eyes, the most distinctive one between our sameness.  He notices me, with no single doubt.

Kill him.

The voice has been occupying my mind, since the first sight between us. His innocent eyes as a new-born deer awoke my essence of being a hunter, who had hunted the desire to be alive, the love with a romantic imagination and possession in my past lives; who now will hunt the chance to regret, to confess, to hug her again.

Maria, I’m going to be a murderer, a devil, a ghost with no name but shouldering sins that weigh many lives, crying in hell for your forgiveness.

Maria, can you listen to my declaration of love, can you hear my confession to things that have become history?