The New Year

The New Year. A time for rebirth, to reflect on the past with hope, for second chances, and new beginnings. How simple, to surrender to the droning rhythm of time's strict militant symphony of drunken farewells and foolish rejoicing. I long for sweet etherium. Let the daylight drift upon our dewy limbs as we lay entwined and naked, with no warm welcome for this fleeting fair weather friend. Tonight we will revolt, on a bed of crushed velvet, satin, and roses. The candle-lite tempo of our disjunct melody of bodies, and sighs, and unspoken exclamations of love will create an immortal moment where time passes us by. Someday, we might victoriously claim, that we were once lost in a moment where passion reigns.

The Playground

On the playground, some of the children used to play Lava Monster, imagining a fiery doom below them. I saw this sometimes, from the large merry-go-round, where the smaller childred would hold tight, spinning, until finnally each one would fly out onto the sand. Injuries suffered were endured with glee, pride even.

Much later, I broke my back playing these games, some other girls did too. Maybe it's brain chemistry, or maybe it's Mars, or maybe I just can't possibly love something unless I've broken it, and its broken me. The way the burn of the sand under my skin sent the adrenaline coursing.