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It was a scorchingly hot summer day in June when I walked up toward the house from the barn, heading toward the old cedar tree near the house. The tree had bird feeders hanging on it, and probably I was going to check the feeders to see how much seed they had in them.
Breathing in. The lungs expand, chest tight. The air catches in my throat. Breathing out. The air slithers out, my eyes going, facing the paper. It is blank, void of anything but a red line and blue lines. My mind is already at work. What is it going to be?
The girl with the sunset eyes and the boy with hands like glass.
He fell in love with her because she was so beautiful when she cried.
He hated to see her in tears, but when she cried, streaks of blue and orange and yellow and pink fell down her cheeks.
On sad days,
his eyes tell me stories –
stories of pain,
They hold within them soft, grey clouds after April afternoon storms.
But the sky is bright without the sun,
because it is never truly gone.
My record player- The warm sound of “Ultraviolence” circling through my room like nothing I’ve ever heard before. Connected with the music.
You look at me and you soon know my entire story, a story of sadness turned into bliss but only because of you- connected