I think my best nights are undocumented and the best parts of me come after layers and layers of overt tendencies. Once in a blue moon, someone with the patience would slowly peel them like dead skin on dry lips and there it would be. The red that reminds me of epileptic lights and sweet smoke and shimmering sweat. Which take me to the blue of waters seen from altitudes in crisp sunlight and tanning skin. Love on gigantic branches. Over the hills and under the stars. Fingers that fit like gloves and songs that melt into the breeze. Art on shady streets and the sound of the breaking glass of empty bottles flung to the floor from rooftops. Warm grass flooding my womb with earthiness and city lights that glimmer in the distance. Stories of strangers with multi-coloured tresses. 11pm guitar strums echoing through the walls. Coordinated movement and harmonised energy. The depth of silence and the stimulation of noise. The desire to sleep. The aroma of morning coffee. New clothes, new wants, new things to see. Old friends, old places and endless laughter. Dresses that make us feel like powerful women. Buttery pans, sizzling cheese, red wine and teak scented books. Car rides, Sunsets in the waves and brownies at the beach. Cherry candles, long hugs and kisses that stop time. Dream worlds and spirit worlds and the pitter-patter of rain. I exist. How dare I ever complain?
