Colors of the day
Today tastes of jasmine and green tea,
secret places that no one else knows.
Musty books on benches in the sun
salt, licked from the skin.
Today smells of cut grass,
and tennis balls and milkweed,
and the endless springs of
possibility.
It sounds of cicadas and
chirping frogs in the mist
and whirring whispers
through the tall grass,
me, belly pressed against the
moist earth.
It feels of absence.
His absence.
I remember it just like the rest,
forever,
from ever,
it is not a new feeling,
and yet, it is.
secret places that no one else knows.
Musty books on benches in the sun
salt, licked from the skin.
Today smells of cut grass,
and tennis balls and milkweed,
and the endless springs of
possibility.
It sounds of cicadas and
chirping frogs in the mist
and whirring whispers
through the tall grass,
me, belly pressed against the
moist earth.
It feels of absence.
His absence.
I remember it just like the rest,
forever,
from ever,
it is not a new feeling,
and yet, it is.
posted by ilana at 8:35 p.m.
3 Comments:
Muy melancólico y sumamente hermoso.
si se siente la ausencia es que algo está llenando! ;) ENJOY!
Estoy fascinada con las diversas interpretaciones que han surgido a partir de estas pobres líneas... curioso...
cada quien puede leer su propia situación. Y ninguna es la única ni la efectiva - sino todas son versiones de sí mismas, que surgen como ondas que irradian de una piedra que cae al agua en el estanque.
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