I don’t remember what warmth feels like. I was once clothed by the blanket of love, waking up every day enveloped in its soothing embrace. I once believed it to be eternal, lasting my entire lifetime and beyond. I am now vulnerable and naked, freezing through the night, presented with the harsh reality that my relationships were ephemeral.
As life continued to progress, I began to notice the prescient warnings of my ending: conversations that once flourished with little effort plateaued with a deep sigh. I winced at the sight; everything I had come to know and built up to that point was dying out like a candle. Slowly would the flame disappear, replaced with only a memory.
I have attempted to light the candle anew on my burnt fingers more times than I can count. Blisters have formed and burst, leaving scars that cover my hands, reminiscing my callused fingertips. Since then, I have hesitated to remove the gloves that cover up the evidence of those blisters.
The blanket was a special souvenir of mine that I will continue to cherish. As much as I enjoyed my time with the blanket resting on my shoulders, I understood that it was bound to be a memory later in life. What once was lightweight and carefree became so cumbersome; I was losing grip on my life. I hold no resentment toward what took it, nor do I feel ostracized; I simply feel lonesome.
From a distant place, I see the land where I used to live. Every time I close my eyes, I am met with the faces that filled my heart from that time. The planet was spinning so elegantly, so effortlessly, and I was dancing in the sunlight. From outer space, I look down on the earth now and see the trees that took my place; their branches twirl and move along the wind, cloning my footsteps.
The rocket ship I am on will continue to rumble through space, dodging meteors and allowing me to admire the entire night sky. Soon, I will land on a new planet, and I will choreograph with the sun. In the evening, I will befriend the candlelight in my solitude. The flame will greet me each morning and whisper poems to me at night until I doze off. I will sleep effortlessly through the night, with a teddy bear and a blanket to embrace as I dream sweet dreams of my adventures of tomorrow.
The memory of my old blanket will forever place a poignant taste on my tongue. The scars on my fingers will never fade completely, as I am always flowing with the smoke rising from the candle once lit.
