Flora loved the fireworks, though she couldn’t hear,
Feeling anticipation growing as the day approached that year.
Fire condensed in controlled explosions,
Full of color, optical wonder,
Flashing sparks and views that rivaled stars.
Finally, the moment arrived,
Flora set out on her drive,
Fear and reverence on the inside,
Focusing on her mind,
Feeling joy that now was the time.
Flashing colors across the sky,
Flora covered in many different colors,
Fauna running to their mothers,
Fawns falling from the shaking of the booms.
Flora felt like she was flying,
Fascinated by the sparkles that were shining.
Flora realized,
Fireworks are more than just a recreational display we shoot in the sky,
Fireworks are memories burning bright!
Flora may not have been able to hear them, but she reasoned that was all right.

People tell me to live like every day is my last.

But that’s not what life is for.
Life is for believing. Believing that you will have tomorrow.
Believing that tomorrow isn’t just a prospect, but an imminence.

I can picture every horrible scenario, every improbable tragedy:
Car crash, heart attack, kidnapping—
But if I’m always wondering if I’ll meet my death tomorrow,
I’m not living at all.

Life is slow and arduous and not everyday is extraordinary.
Most days are forgotten.

But the ones that aren’t…
the days that you’ll think about when you’re really dying,
they only have value because they’re numbered.

And even though we spend our lives reflecting on
and recording those sensational memories,
I’m grateful for every useless day and hour and minute I had.

Because I love living like every day is not my last.

So there they stood, staring one another down. It was an act of rebellion in a way, seeing something almost sacred. No one can plan for the sugar shock electric rush.

some moments
dont come back to you --
but when they do,
they usually always
bring the laughter
you still remeber
the shape of.

and for a second,
you're there again --
happy
and full of
joy.
whithout even
trying
to be.

As the skies up high
bloom with dark sea blue,
when the moon forgets
its duty tonight;
Up you fly for
a ballet with the stars;
Glowing every
single black ray
with a golden spark;
When all asleep,
cozy, warm in their beds,
but why?
Why do you
light up the skies,
without keeping
the only left light
to yourself?

It took three seconds
for a cautious hello
to turn into a symphony for my soul.

I wonder if my walls still remember
the laughter that went on till dawn.
Since then, the mirror seemed kinder,
my legs moved quicker,
and my smile did not vanish.

I have never felt this way before—
sleep seemed futile,
hunger vanished.
I wrote about you
until my hands hurt.

I could feel your heartbeat
through the light blue shirt you wore.
The hidden patch of your beard was exposed.
Your words fell into mine—
look at our human noise.

The old couple looked at us in envy.
Maybe we will get there too.

The moon followed us,
and we heard wedding bells.
Your pretty hand fits well in mine—
just right.

I couldn’t wait to call you home.