I Only Notice When I'm High

I should always be relaxed.

I'm tired of feeling so anxious and cold.

I actually feel warm right now. My fingers are cold, but my fingers are cold in the summer. My toes are cold, but only because they're in rubber slippers. But it feels nice, the cold air feels familiar, unlike the warm air which strangles me.

I remember two summers ago, in the lost lake, I was the only one ready to go for a swim.

Coming from a world of summer into a world of winter, I was desperate to soak in the earth's water.

Those more familiar to this climate knew patience—they knew what ice cold lake water felt like in the dying days of May.

I dipped my head two feet under the surface, my body following.

Immediately, my lungs constricted as the cold threatened to suffocate me.

And now, I breath it in with ease, along with this smoke of my cigarette.

But that will always be there.

The cold will leave as a miserable Okinawan summer closes in on me.