I enjoy the way the cold wind wraps me, caressing my coat, staying for a while in my scarf.
I keep on walking deeper, through dark passages and streets with no end.
Maybe, if I stay still, I dissapear.
When in the darkness I see someone, I contract myself. I wrapped myself up, a layer at a time.
That chain of thoughts that run over each other and lash out at me are like an avalanche that drags me to hard places I can not return from.
Sometimes the purge removes shields. Other times it just stirs, tiding up those threads that will soon come back to strees, to choke.
It's funny how we adapt to flavours that used to taste horrible. Like carqueja, ginger and the bitterness of what can't come back.