It still felt like childhood, when I first met Vico, although I was right amidst its very end

it was not a choice for us to meet

we just had to

(we never did, in a way)

His hairless skin glew in the vicinity of human heat, living off that temperature

He was never whole, never complete, never his own

He must have stopped, somewhere around his birth, right before becoming a person

at the same time no one was complete without him

(not the ones who were close to him)

but it wasn't a choice

it was more like a curse,

and a blessing.

-

One day he wasn't needed anymore

“i'm going home”

he said

“i am not needed anymore”

In hindsight, I didn't really know what “home” was to him

(I didn't really wonder)

After a while we decided to pay visit

We brought gifts and food and tales and human heat

as I pushed the door, it creaked with discomfort

the place felt damp

(home)

a nauseous mix of

cold

and (+)

comfort

(home)

There he was, in the middle of the room, wrapped in filthy wool blankets

(home)

His wooden cradle was swinging at the push of some unknown force

(home)

He was so happy

(home)

and small

(home)

I haven't seen him since.