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Not About A Frozen Sandwich

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I came, I saw, I conquered.


I sat, I walked, turned the key, and entered my house.

Walked to the kitchen, opened the freezer, and poked the sandwich.

It wasn’t that frigid yet.

I was planning to hammer it while it was dead frozen. See how many pieces would shatter.

Smithereens shower. Slow motion. Splendid.

As I was concluding that thought, something really weird struck my head.

The farthest thought that could ever reside this minimalist mind.

Would you be happy to see me searching for happiness in all the wrong places?

And why would I be searching for it? Even running after it? As if it were eluding me?

I become your protector. I become your confidant. Again.

These mere feelings and flashbacks seemed to turn the whole atmosphere into a nostalgic one. It even became real at some minute.

And when I realized which is fiction, I opted to step into reality.

The reality where there is no one else but I and the humming electric fan. The flickering computer monitor. And the frozen sandwich.

The frozen sandwich which, this time, I will preserve just until the power runs out.

Originally published on Multiply

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