I feel myself shiver and rub my arms. The goosebumps are not there; I have simply lost control.
My fingers are strained, my wrists are stiff, and my body feels below 20, and yet, I'm not cold at all.
I wonder. Can I love? It's not a question of "again," did I even love before? The closest thing I may have had was you, but dear, I've forgotten.
I hold onto hope like a farmer hopes his crops will yield in a drought. There is none to hold onto, but I have to try. I have to survive.
But can one call this living?
