With every mouthful of snow the taste grew stronger, sharper and overwhelming, it melted dripping down my chin, but I could not name the ingredients. His taste was as familiar as a scene from the roadside picnic - a general occurence, as mundane as it is banal, yet leaving in its wake a number of mysterious artefacts all charged with hidden meanings and superpowers. And if I were to collect them all, I could complete a quest for the improbable and unobtainable happiness for everyone or be savagely dispatched by the meatgrinder, who knows. I would not blame him.
The mystery that lies beneath our companionship can be mapped out and decoded, studied and dissected like a peculiar unknown form of life, and with each artefact I collect along the way my every step is documented in photographs, captured and encaged in the frame of a black and white snapshot. I may feel a certain unease when the camera points in my direction, as if accused of my very presence here and now, being caught red-handed at the act of everyday. And as the air grows thicker around me, encompassing the mass of pale skinned limbs, I linger in awe of the instant when the flash would slid through the room like a light sabre and chop through the oxygen igniting my breath again, awakening something in me that has been lost within the labyrinth of my lungs, hibernating through the long winter. With every mouthful of snow the taste gets sweeter.
I may at times feel empowered holding onto his breath like it was all mine, like it was one of my own superpowers, yet admittingly I am the one intoxicated by the very taste of his, enchanted by the flashes and pinned to the dissection table for study or amusement or may be both. I am up for anything, really!
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