ignis aurum probat

“It tastes like burning your tongue on too-hot tea even though you knew it was still 140 degrees and scalding. It tastes like a dry mouth after a sleepless night of anxiety-ridden tossing and turning. It tastes like the lip of the first boy you kissed because you wanted to get it over with and now you are twinged with regret wishing you had waited. It tastes like the chalky seven year dust of the theater before the curtain opens. It tastes like the seal of a letter you write because there is no other way to get the words out of your body and you must hurriedly mail the letter before you chicken out. It tastes like the sweat drip of determination in a late night rehearsal. It tastes like licking your finger before you flip to the last page of the best book you’ve ever read. It tastes like the muggy afternoon air just before lightning fractures the sky and thunder shakes the ground. It tastes like the sanitary yet grubby flavor of the waiting room at the ER. It tastes like the water you sip before the first date and the mint you pop into your mouth before the first kiss you’ve wanted for years. It tastes like the tears shed while opening college decision letters. It tastes like dry-mouthed nervousness before an audition. It tastes like the blood of a bitten split lip. It tastes like the dewy morning air as the sun rises. It tastes like the dirt form your first garden and the flour from your attempt at making homemade bread.”

“Jeder weiß, wie man spricht, aber keiner weiß, was er sagen soll.”