#bellatait

I remember the yellow drapes that soaked in floating pillows of nag champa smoke,

And more importantly the words that we spoke - still saturated with with the sweetness of hope.

Resembling a smell of wild blueberry muffins fresh - like grandma always made them - out of the oven.

New enough that we continued to believe we will some day run in our bare feet. Giggling with mud painted knees.

No one ever fighting about who is more equip to be in the lead.

Not that any one of us would grab a rope,

But I think deep down all we wanted was to be rid of the teenage melodrama possessing our bodies

into doing nothing but mope.

I remember the promises I made to stay far away from becoming jaded.

Oh how that sentiment has faded.

“I’ll never be you ya know..” I would always gloat.

Apparently I didn’t see that I was already nose diving forward into the waves that would rock that boat.

That hope still lives, you see it refuses to wilt.

Some light does still leak in time to time.

I mean, look at all that we have built.

Still it is there sitting at the base of my neck, caught in my throat like a pill made up of all of the years of passive aggression and irrational guilt.

Always reaching for the waters of compassion that I convinced myself would never allow for my thirst.

Why would she ever tell me with stars in her eyes that if I give of myself that I would ever come first.

Flat color version, more to come.