1. (It's a chill night.)

My hands are cold. I love it. I love the way my skin feels when it gets chilly. I love that dry-sharp feeling I get on my arms and my face. I love it when my hands get all trembly and can't type properly. I love Winter. I love cold. I love ice. I hate heat. I hate Summer. I hate sweat and stickiness. I hate how nasty things get when they get hot. Cold is sterile. Cold is clean. Cold is dry. Heat is wet. Heat is dirty. Heat is tainted.

It's Winter now. I feel alive. I feel my joints protest every time I stand up. I feel my fingers getting stiff and popping much more often. I see myself in my perfections. As such, I feel my self in my body's failings. Each creak, each pop, each wave of stiffness, each twinge of pain, it all reminds me that I'm a human being and, as such, I've only got so much time to do what it is I want to do with my life. Every day is a ticking time-bomb. Every day could be my last.

And that's why I live.

The moral to this story? Live each day for everything it's worth. Leave no day behind.