my name

"Holding on a rope got me ten feet off the ground."



I met someone today.

He whispered his name in my ear. He called himself Cold. His voice seemed to be a children's cry in the distance. So far away you don't really know where it comes from. He was behind me. I couldn't make out his face. He took my hand into his. Was it smooth or, fair enough, cold? I couldn't tell. I couldn't feel it. His fingers where white, whiter than mine and his hands were downright flawless. He rested his head on my shoulder. That I could feel. Leaned his head on mine. HIs breath was even and slow. He played with my hand for a while.
I could slowly make out his skin on mine. I felt him cut through it, seeking my blood to slowly reach my soul. I closed my eyes when I felt his chest on my back. I opened them and saw only my own hand. He wasn't there.


You were asking for my name?