The New Year.
Some say it's a fresh start, others pat themselves on the back for
another year down, even though they probably don't deserve the acknowledgement. Some use it as an excuse, to get high, drunk, and all the things that follow so.
I see another year closer.
Another year I've waited to leave this town with its overly feigned cookie cuter houses and plastic people, if you can even call them people at all.
Another year closer to the year I can stop pretending. Another year closer.
Another year so much nearer to showing what black and white can really do, to all the little lights and yellow flowers and raindrops and white canvas.
So much closer. But I'll start here.
It's nice to see you again.
Happiness settles in when October arrives.
When the cool lungs of fall envelope California,
and burnt crimson holds tight to bright pumpkin shades.
The autumn sunshine spills through these colors,
warm and inviting and familiar.
But even so, waking up to a sky of ash grey clouds that are
ready and eager to let their tears drip and kiss my face is a sort of bittersweet I can't help but adore.
Because after those kisses slide off my face and I breathe in,
I can smell the way the rain smells once it hits the asphalt,
The crisp, cool scent of sadness becoming something beautiful.
The way his lips leave a tinge on the tip of my tongue in October.
The anticipation and anxiety was sour; but the electricity on the pink of my own lips tasted like I can't explain.
I can imagine my own taste, if I try.
At first, you'll taste the strength of coffee and the bold smoke of cigarettes
Later tasting the lavender and sweet cream forever embedded upon the soft pink of my mouth.
Where did you go?
— The End —