One day in December 2016
I am listening to Frank Sinatra's Christmas carol. It is an afternoon of one day in December. I am still alive. It is more than 4 years now since my wife died. I still come to work everyday. My life is on a standstill. It does not get better, nor getting worse. Or maybe it is getting worse because I am getting older and weaker every single day. Or it is getting better because the day I will meet my wife again is getting closer. I rarely meet people. I still long for a touch of a woman. A woman who loves me and whom I love. A woman I can touch. My typical life style tells me that a chance to meet a woman like that is zero. Or what I have is just skin hunger. Anyway, I am easily tired and lose the will to try something different. I stay more and more time alone at home. Compared to a couple of years ago, I got better at living alone. But this chornically drepressed feelings do not go away. There is still a flickering desire for having a normal life in which I can come home after a