7 minutes
Eat. Says the lonely plate in front of me. My hands tremble not because of the cold but because my mind has refused to function with an empty stomach. My body longs for food, while I long for something else, a person perhaps, or a place, or a memory.
There are thoughts more vicious than murderers. They attack with invisible but deeply penetrating weapon — and when they strike the heart, they put everything else to an irrevocable end.
I finished my food and decided I'd drink water downstairs. I convinced myself I am full, while staring carelessly into space. The quiet rooftop summoned me for a quick contemplation, but I declined. “Soon,” I said, “when I don't have the desire to step out of the railing and set my body in a free fall.”