My feet are cold. I should have worn warmer socks. My hands are warm, right? No, I can't feel them at all. At least they aren't cold. Oh that dress on the corner shop is still there. Who would want to buy such an ugly brown like that? The colour is like my father's violin.
He used to say that he was a musician. Whenever he would come home reeking of something dizzying he would take the instrument and play it with such passion my mother would weep. I liked his music. It was so strong. Not like me, I always was weak, too weak. Too weak for what? I think it was something important, it was someone. I couldn't protect them… The music it was joyful. Could of I been too weak for joy? I can't remember. I will, soon.