3. she confides her faith to earth and sky; when day and night promised to stave her cold

I snapped my head up to see the stranger now was standing clearly three feet away in front of me. Pulling down the cloth off his face, he shot me a smile as I remember seeing him on a few days back. The one who burned my skin with his stupid Americano. Looking around trying to confirm that he really was talking to me, I blinked back my eyes to see him staring at me. Rather blatantly for my own pleasure. I could feel the rush of heat creeping under my skin, that judgmental look. The look that make every inch of one’s self esteem shudder, and you can’t help but to consciously inspecting all your weaknesses and flaws under and try to protect them hidden from appearing on the tip of your skin. Safely as of those watchful eyes.

            “What?” sounded a little bit standoffish, I saw how his face flickered at my voice. His corner lips twitched, he supposed to be really offended by now.

            “About our accident meeting, are you alright?” and that just sent me to the verge of self incongruence; I began to doubt my eyes and sanity.

            “I was a jerk at that time, I should’ve earnestly asked for your apology that day.” Rolling my eyes, saying insincere ‘that’s fine’ couple of times, I walk past him to leave because somehow I feel suffocated at the reminiscent of uneventful meeting of us. I heard his steps becoming quicker, following after me before he was in sight again. Walking together, he matched my staggered stride because the snow piled on the ground was thicker than what I expected it to be. Trying to be ignorant as possible, I let my facade hardened at the pretense I wore.

            He casually flipped a strap of a black tube that he wore across his torso and opened the cap with a ‘pop’. He then pulled out a roll of a white paper block, trying to shove the object into my hand which I refused and keep my fist firm at my sides.  

            “I’m sorry to actually roll it like this because I can’t possibly let it crumple in my bag--” ignore…  

“I don’t know but I’ve finished making you a new collage. It might not be as perfect as yours but I did try my best--” just a little bit more…

“I saw your name on that sketchbook so asked around and even googled up your name for information--” that’s it!

“Stop talking so much. And you don’t owe me anything so stop fussing over it!”

“No!” and that managed to make my feet stop and I turn my probable puzzled face to look at him.

            “I mean, we have mutual friends on the Facebook so I asked for a friend help regarding your course assignment.” This man really -- huffing a great amount of dissatisfaction through my heavy sigh, I dejectedly look over my shoulder and signalled him for us to sit at the bench beside.

            “Do you bring your pencil case?” the chill seeped through the few materials that were separating my bottom’s skin from the icy wood. Why even I choose this situation when I could just crawl in and snuggle my cozy bed and blanket. And I feel regret taken over for a while. I saw him nodded couple of times while fumbling around with his messenger bag and I took the chance to pry my eyes off him to the paper in my hand.

            I felt the urge to crump and tear that new poetry collage he gave me. I want to destroy it so bad. It was rather wonderfully made and definitely exceeded my expectation. My eyes scanned the paper in wonder (and a bit of envious budding in my heart) because the one that I made was nothing but a shabby piece work compared to this. It was pretty intense; the imageries he used blended well with selective morose colours of anything but temperate.

            My eyes forlornly look over the small image of a girl with her head peeking over a brick wall made of pictures advertisement.  Wearing a dress that easily regarded as rug, and she was silenced before a somber dead streetlamp while the lantern she was longing to hold, was separated quite far from her touch. Scratch that, it was glued too further up from her scale of reaching. It seemed to be majestic; the presence of the lantern itself overtook the dark pieces of small paper glued altogether created a dead, fuzzy sky. That gave me a resemblance of the moon.

            I realized, I was too caught up in analysing the poetry collage he made when he cleared his throat. He should actually consider switching his course since he had this depth of literary flair. I wonder if I just showered him with a compliment. Stop it. I was brought upon to reality as he shoved a black compartment in front of my face. Muttering a ‘thanks’ under breathe, I zipped open his pencil case and reach for his penknife which was a bit rusty and odd. I pushed the blade out but, then, I was astounded for the weird colour and pattern the rust had. The black burgundy flakes from the silver metal subsequently fell, fitting themselves in the dirt on the table.

Dried blood, how fun –and it smelled stank.

            I’ve read somewhere that the most beautiful people are