The days are dwindling down, the four and a half months I've been in Seattle have been a godsend. I am ready to move or ready to stay, it's hard knowing that I am on my way out.
Already nostalgic I have to question my motives for leaving.
More than anything there are those that I've come to know during my refuge, people that have touched my heart and mind, skin that I've watched change from pale to glowing as the summer's rays deepen.I have a fantasy picnic: blanket covered with bowls of salads, pitchers of beverages dripping condensation, thick slices of cake. It's on a hill, under a tree. The grass is thick in our toes as we edge off the blanket. Somehow there are sheets snapping in the wind and we are also together, the food packed away, consumed, left for ants. We are together wrapped in the crisp wind and the day pushes through.
As I circle into my heart I think about the girl I almost kissed this week. Or did, but it was only for show, for pictures, for art. The edges of her lips touched the arch of mine. That non-kiss was lightening.
Light is being lost by the handful each day. Thick and heavy air settles in the valleys of the city. I am glad to be by the sea. I want to see
white legs flash as they run for the waves.
No comments:
Post a Comment