＊ａ　ｓｃａｒｆ＊

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I wove my longings link by link, inch by inch, till my eyes blurred, till the magnitude of the fragile seeming scarf had grown enough to embrace your neck, shutting my cat, the marauding cat, who takes great interest in wool threads and warmth of any form of blankets, outside my door.

He was sniveling cats’ language for cat food and for love; I acquired my cold and my sniffle knitting the khaki-colored warmth upon a wooden frame, for unlike him, I’ve lost my language. The wool breathed. The room silenced.

It was freezing cold, the entire street frozen in a dry, sharp slow motion; things that were supposed to rot stayed still… including my heart, as if inside a quiet refrigerator…where all bacteria gnaw in microscopic massacre in less than half of normal speed.

And I love you.

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