Soft morning light filters in through the blinds of the open window, it's already nine and the birds have almost completed their first symphony. Summer skin contrasts with the whiteness of freshly washed sheets that smell of lavender. On this particular morning, there will be tea. Cups at fingertips, fingers gently touching lips. Later, there might be a lot to do. There might be nearly nothing. Along the way, very little is known. A careful breeze moves between, above and around the room turning sheets like newspaper pages and leaning out the bedroom door, curious about the details, making soft sounds as it makes it's path through the house, only to fall silent. Gazing through the blinds once more, gentle whisps of white cotton clouds, it's easy to find longing in the sky.
Into the afternoon, softly leaning on sofas, noses in books, feet at bicycle pedals moving on and into the future. There is music and dancing and laughter in a little café, tucked neatly by the canal. At certain moments, the music becomes much too loud, at others, it is the laughter. Life breathes into the lttle café, seemingly tucked into a miniature forest, even though it sits in the middle of the city. In truth, it simply belongs to this moment, dancing in the afternoon, shade of trees, dragonflies milling over the water of the still canal. Life stands still to breath, listen. Sun streaks through the leaves of tall trees, creating Jacobs ladder. Two more smiles cut loose and run. Watching the sunset, so fine the sugar of the sun, leaning down with a shy grin. Escape into purple dusk.
Full moons are finer because risings come and turn your soul around. When the stars retreat we are something different. I am tossed and turned by flickering lamplit eyes. I like listening to the wind sing, echoes of late night murmurs and the sound of rain pounding against the window. I like the beat of your heart against my chest and the breeze - fresh seawater and salt, wet, light, raining all over me. Once the darkness devours me, I am stirred to life by gentle imaginings of fingertips brushing, softly treading feet marking new trails and patterns in the shifting sand of two bodies, slip below melted, warm skin in a deep dark starless sky so thick not even the motion of surf crashing upon jagged cliffs could outweigh the rise and fall of these breaths or the secret which has made itself known. Within a midsummer nights' dream.
And already I wonder if tomorrow will be an orange morning filled with lavender smells. Living in a world where everyone is looking at the same object and everyone sees the same thing. Except me. I see something different altogether. It's easy to find longing in the sky, easy to figure out which worlds are worth saving. There is some small scar in the truth, like how sunsets are better than sunrises...
