It’s late and it’s cold

When I was a kid my mom would tell me my kisses were the best in the world. And I believed her, thinking there was something objectively special about my kisses. So, I was happy when I got to play “kiss or slap” for the first time because now whoever I got to kiss would be amazed. I was probably 8 or 9 years old. We were all in a circle and when my turn came I picked the boy I liked and kissed him on the cheek. I waited for him to either kiss me back or slap me. And he slapped me.
My favorite book is “Ignorance” by Milan Kundera, not only for the way he explores the price we pay for immigrating but for the perfectly painful illustration of how one event can be life changing to one and completely insignificant to the other. This is our life, or mine. What do I know about others’ lives?
I know about mine that my actions do not move at the speed of my thoughts. And that increasing actions deteriorates my thoughts. Repulsion is sometimes the only word that comes to mind. I have my limbs and no movement comes of them. They are static, as static as I wish my thoughts to be on days like these. But sometimes wishes do not come true.