For years now I have been the home to a primeval creature residing inside me. You wouldn’t be able to detect it even if you looked closely. The smile would fool you. Even the eyes might lie. If you cut open the belly and wriggle your hand until the farthest corner you might be able to touch it. It smells of flesh and fear and forgotten memories. It has the colour of blue. Not the colour of ocean or the sky or morning glory or the little girl’s Mary Jane. It is the colour of bruise on the neck of death. On some days it comes out of its hiding place and embraces me in its inescapable grip of infinite love. I could feel its frosty whisper at the nape of my neck. Its long fingers trace my soft flesh. I quiver. When was the last time cold gave me so much warmth? My lips slowly begin to sink into its inviting abyss. I dance and make love to my oldest friend. I feel like falling asleep in its arms. Nothing else fancies me anymore. Not your smile or kisses or your promise of fairy tale. I am no longer yours. My lips are cold. My heart is the colour of its tongue now. But then, blue has always been my favourite colour.