You tasted like beer every time you kissed me. The cheap kind, because that’s all we could afford. “I’m going to make you my wife one day.” It’s so easy to make promises of forever when you are so young. But I believed every word, listening to the waves crash in the darkness; a satiation I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. You were terrible for me, but I recall you so beautifully.
From here on this four-legged stool, I can simplify the universe into little pockets of the globe. It makes life a bit easier. Compartmentalizing like this. Seeing pieces of me in everyone else. Realizing that we are all ridiculously connected even if I will never know the faces of 99 percent of humans on this earth. And what’s more is that I will know even less about the space that surrounds our planet. The galaxy. Galaxies. What lies beyond.
I have always been drawn to color. My eyes love the glamor and glitter, watching rainbow reflections in the rear view mirror of a summer day. I used to collect paint palettes as a kid, flipping through Easter egg pastels and matching the pinks to the flush of my cheeks. Soft corals and sweet lavender. I have always been drawn to the blues, the greens, the purples. Darker colors of mystic. Of dragons and gypsies. Colors of unpredictability and mystery.
I love this time of year. Poetry stirs deep within my bones. Inspiration does not flock with the southern birds, but chirps a sumptuous legato. Bitter tannins seep from fruitful bark even in the embrace of the howling wind. And I remain outdoors just to watch the clouds part for a blood orange moon – a jack-o-lantern sky painted with purple stars and frozen breath.
They look at me unknowingly. A creature of a mythical past. Hair of cinnamon sprinkles and fins of urban legend scales. Windmills of honey and grim reaper tales. I flip over sea shells and breathe with aquamarine lungs. Scarlet eyes and white lights. Magic combs and unknown explorers. They crave curiosity, but fear the unexpected.