The neon signs were no constellations, yet we navigated by them just the same.
We'd come to think of the pickup trucks in the same way we saw everything else in the landscape, as if they belonged as much as the trees and horses. Perhaps in a few generations they'll be seen the same way we look at caveman tools now, but the trees and horses will remain, and with good leadership and wisdom, so will we.
Massive amounts of wind are both music and the dance-floor for the clouds... vagrant, white and puffy as they are - playing and teasing with other clouds and moving freely in the sky as if they own freedom itself. Yet I wondered why at times they cry with fierce and sonorous thunder...
Her hair flowed down her back like black ink of a tilted piece of parchment. Her eyes were fox-like and had an icy greyish green hue like the first sprouts of plants in the snow.
"I don't know why I split myself open for someone who would never even bother to show me the thread."
The on-shore breeze brings mild air rather than our usual winter chill. The puddles remain stubbornly free of ice and our breath remains quite invisible, as if the warmer seasons both stayed longer and arrived sooner.
He watched the sunset at the horizon, spreading its largess into a grateful sky. Rich hues of red blended with oranges, purples, crimsons. Bob's spirit soared at the sight as he was transported into a timeless existence, ready for the protective blanket of night and new dreams.
It was the sort of hoodie that hugged you, that brought a sense of safety. With it on I breathed more easily, felt more calm. I realise its just clothing, but when the world feels so big, its great to have a sense of emotional safe-harbour.
I started pedaling, inching toward my destination and enjoying the newly cool air. It was a lovely day, the first of all the days of spring, with crocuses and daisies in the neighbors garden, and white asters blooming all around. I didn't simply like nature, but rather I loved it. The trees and the flowers and the animals who lasted all around. Imagining all of nature destroyed would be like leaving my soul gasping for breath.
Art that spoke of mountains and freedom were placed upon a white-washed wall in city that knew neither.
Sleepless nights. Beat up conversation. Movie marathons - sci-fi, crime dramas, action. Chaotic good, bad - hell, just chaos. Five cups of tea in a morning. Leather jackets, ripped acid-wash jeans, dusty Bon Jovi tank tops. Wishing you you didn't care as much as you do. Corner store raids at 2am. Loud music in your ear buds, in your car, in your house - loud music in general. The sound and smell of a crackling bonfire. One too many drinks on the beach. Daddy's girl. Judging people who judge people. Tumblr trash. Fifty percent anxiety, fifty percent sadness. Rebels with big hearts. Guys that are awesome with kids. Confidence bordering on arrogance. Starry nights in the dead of winter. Tattoos that are like artwork - who am I kidding? Tattoos are artwork. Pastel hair, dark clothes. Dark hair, still, dark clothes. Greasy food in the middle of the night. Real music - that shit isn't on the radio. Fairy lights over your bed, posters lining the walls and ceiling. You and me against the world.
The fork was simple and well made, the blackening speaking of family and all those loving times eating together.