Second blog entry - Winter

Walking is not my favorite activity; never has been and will (most likely) never be.

Nevertheless, I have to walk, if I didn't my legs would hurt twice as much. Perhaps not. Maybe they'd hurt less, but I do not think I'll be able to figure that out any time soon.

Yesterday, I had heard that it would be cold outside, but I did not listen, I never do; I seem to have taken the custom of not listening and then having to suffer the experience of learning through experience. The base of humanity I always try to escape.

So today, I did exactly that: I walked. From my designated studying place to the assumed comfort of my home, or house (it possibly is not a home, just a house).

As I went outside, I found myself realizing that I was human. The cold made my body ache, my hands, my arms, my face.
It may sound dramatic, but with each step, the humid freezing temperature started crawling into my bones, carving my possible future inside of me. I was halfway through my path when I noticed I had been walking as if in a trance, just then I looked at my hands: Purple fingertips, they didn't hurt anymore, quite honestly, nothing hurt anymore, I couldn't feel anything at all. I could, however, notice I was exhausted.

In that moment of absence, I found myself staring at the green parrots; these green parrots seemed to be playing with the sparrows in the way, although, quite honestly, they probably were all just feeding off of an incredibly rich soil. It made me feel genuinely melancholic and heartbroken when a car passed by, the birds deciding to open their wings, and fly somewhere quiet.
I would have done so too, if the possibility was given to me.

I felt colder, but oh so uncomfortably heavy-eyed and drowsy. I pondered if I would truly get home (It's so very close, I do not know why it was taking so long), and If dying from the cold had always been so, peaceful.

My body gave up on me, and I had to lay down on a comfortable bed of pure grass. I wonder if I would die there, as my eyes close. I think of every poem I enjoy, as they open once again.
I ponder if I should perhaps stand up and avoid the sharp hands of a possible death, standing near to my shoulders, wishing to grab them; and perhaps continue my way, as I yawn, eyes closing once again.

A dog woke me up, by sniffing my face and walking away, that's when I decided it was not my day, and got up. I did feel horribly sluggish, but humanity was in me, and I was going to walk and survive.

Quite an odd experience, If you wish to ask me. Next time, I'll bring a significantly warmer coat haha!