67. Sarah, The Winter Is Upon Us.

Sweet.
Talk about variums of spare ribs, Chinese style. Thinking hard about food and combination, lean meat in soup. Hearing the voice resonate from a familiar body,
One that I see so clearly behind me.
Grinding sounds, pondering its source. The body behind me!
I think, what’s next to think?
You’re welcome boo. I try to answer you back in voice but instead it’s spoken through my fingers. I wish you can hear my words as I type, but soon your wonder will turn to clarity.
Do you see what’s near? In the distance covered by the possibility of a white blanket, a security so piercing.
Wait until the sun comes up and the blanket will melt off the earth’s skin. You heard me. It’s going to flow away, away, away like a river so wispy.
My nails are short, sharp, shark-like. I use the lack of them to protect the surfaces I touch. I am empathetic to inanimate objects.
I turned around and answered the question asked so long ago.
I turned around and I smiled to a face not pointed at mine.
I know her consciousness is facing me. It’s fine and dandy.
I turned to myself and passed out a smile like it was affordable.