Smile 

The chair looked comfortable and cushiony, and as I sat on it, it just tried to swallow me deep. I couldn’t upright my back, so I leaned on the wall to support me, which surely was noticed by my psychotherapist.

“You should relax, and if you want, you can lie down on the sofa. What kind of tea would you like?” Coco asked. It was obvious that I would say no if were asked whether I would want a tea or not. I anwered whatever infusion tea there was, so that I’d not mangle my bed sheet with sleepless move later at night. A small green cup was brought to my front but it was just enough to warm up the whole body.

Then the talk continued, mostly about my life in Buenos Aires, my mixed feeling about this reckless city, and finally my paused behaviour before others. Maybe this paused behaviour comes from overwhelming invasion of words of others or the emptiness of such words that make me wait to see a concrete ground building.

But finally I could drag my three favourite places in Buenos Aires, and doing so, I realised that for a long time those places have stayed untouched by my fingers. Those places are where my fingers open their single-eyes to be poked. Those places are where my fingers blow boogers to smell.

“I should have left those as my hideouts. I should’ve not brought my once close friends to expose my hideouts. I shared my personal places only to leave where I step on. Now, I have no elsewhere to step on to move.”

But yet Buenos Aires looks so big. The city always wins.

Look at Buenos Aires now. The winning city. It looks like stitches of deformed body. One leg cut off. The other standing one even wears the very capitalism unfit to the feet. Masculine tattooed arm holds an advertisement of alcohol. There is only one eye between four eyeholes. Nothing is dared to see. Such dementing and demented creature it is, until to think how I’d look like beaten up by this creature of horror. I’d be disgusting.

From some point of talk, Coco started to ask my validation before choice. The question started to demanding my yes. I replied no for many first questions. “Do you want more tea?” No. “Do you want to make yourself comfortable on the sofa?” No. “Are you cold?” No.

But my therapy have proven that I reach to turn negativity bias into positivity ones eventually.

“Then, do you want French fries?” Yes. “Would you be comfortable to have somewhere to lean on?” Yes. “Is it okay to move heater more closer?” Yes.

Then the question followed: “Can I kiss you?”

Yes.

Then later both were found naked on the reddish sofa. Coco’s final smelled like coconut milk. My fingertips dropped the unwet French letter. They could see the letter to read. They could smell the still remaining fountainpen’s blue ink.

I shrugged. I wiped. Then, I left.

I gave the monster another stitch, but I was the one still beaten up. I wiped the weep.

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