Snow

It began to snow at midnight. And certainly the kitchen is the best place to sit, even the kitchen of the sleepless. It's warm there, you cook yourself something, drink wine and look out of the window at your friend eternity. Why care whether birth and death are merely points when life is not a straight line. Why torment yourself eyeing the calender and wondering what is at stake. Why confess you don't have the money to buy Saskia shoes? And why brag that you suffer more than others. If there were no silence here the snow would have dreamed it up. You are alone. Spare the gestures. Nothing for show.