Nov 24, 2011
【5b】If I Wake Up and Found You become a Something [crazy thoughts of mine]
If I Wake Up and Found You become a Something
Someday when I wake up, I will find you sleeping beside me but turned into a bun. With this I ask, was I to be bread to her? Or be seen as a person?
For the love of me, I will always look to her in a different way, imagining her to be something which she is not but which I find her to be so alike. But the expression does not come out.
I placed her up properly—absolutely not in the kitchen or dining table for she cannot eat. I wish to inform the family about her, prohibiting any bread, to ensure that under no circumstances will I confuse her from any other bread. This is a necessary sacrifice to protect her life and keep her from any other harm.
Shelf life can also be a big problem for bread can degenerate and turn moldy within a day or two. To this end, I want to buy a refrigerator for her alone—one with a freezing function. But since bread cannot be refrigerated, since it will become hard as stone—frozen until the holidays—I need to bring her out to make her fresh like before. Of course, this refrigerator should be exclusively for hers alone, and I shall not put anything in it so as to avoid the mess it will bring when she scavenges the food she was addicted to.
She loves clean things, and for this she should be fresh bread—sanitary and clean to the inside. I need to give her a bath everyday, and using the best tissues and wipes, I will wipe away slowly, careful not to bruise her skin for bread is fragile, with only a thin layer of dough to act as her only barrier, so be sure to protect. Her home needs regular worming to prevent her from having insect bites that would destroy her without my knowledge.
As for her school, QQ, watercress, this I will help her continue to take care of. She has told her friends to travel and go, and probably more than half will come back. So, should others know that she has become bread? Occasionally, travel photos are usually being posted on the web, so I guess she definitely do not want to have her friends know that she has become a bun.
She has turned into bread, and for this I am sad. However, it will cost less travel time and would save a lot of money, especially in terms of accommodation. I just live in Youth Hostel beds, and packed in her soft, I carefully selected a pocket on the pillow, while she still traveled the Quartet. Her pictures and photo will attract passers-by, as they thought about what a man is doing with a big bun in his right hand and a big bag on the other.
I am the eyes of others, and I am afraid I will become a madman no matter where, to be with a bunch of bread that photographers would not care to take pictures of. In spite of this, I will be recognized in the network, with a name called the Bread Man. We will have a series of photos, showing my hand and my bread, or a happy hug, or excitedly kissing a bunch of bread. She was treated like bread, and in the eyes of others I may have become crazy—widowed and crazy—but in my mind, I believe that my favorite is bread. It is something normal, since everyone has his or her likes and wants. That I can accept.
However, I do not admit that I have become a fetish form of lover. I love not the bread but her alone. Yet, since she has now become bread that I will fall in love with after the many changes in her, I will do things that would bring smile to her face. I will take the trouble of explaining things to her parents with such an independent personality that they would be mesmerized with what I have done to my bread. Whether or not she is bread, she is still a person like me.
Slowly, I will develop the habit of treating carefully every bread and never eating bread. I hope that with my case people will begin to care for the right treatment of bread. Looking at my bread, I smell her, instinctively opening my mouth, and in contact with her, turns in to a small kiss that is slow… my heart gradually calming down. I only used to treasure a bunch of bread that for me is actually more than bread. I am used to a quiet life.
I hope to travel with her photo plastered on a wall, with the other half normal and the other half bread. By this, I am relieved that she would never go away, reminding me of her past happiness and how different time is when I am with her. I would like to use the camera to record all her points of view—a record collection that is worth the time and the effort. I will even use my computer to write an article on the bread of each diary.
I have always believed that one day, I will wake up around the bread, as it changes back to her usual self, silently sleeping in peace. I would not be surprised, as I expect her to be back in reality where I knew her once to be. Gently pulling the quilt to help her, I crept to pick up the camera, and then lay back in bed to take her photo. She has finally come back.
In time I could tell her,
“In fact, what those who give up, depression, withdrawal, are false,
I just love you more than before.”
[All I want to is to turn old with you]
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