roses

roses

I can smell them again. They strike me as both vibrant and vulnerable - a pinprick and they turn grey. A bee sting and they go away. Lately, the furniture of my mind has been rearranged. I am in love with someone, and my life is changing around them. I put flowers out for her, I bake bread for her, I paint again for her. I am remembering how much beauty there is in cherishing someone, in celebrating someone. I shall make her a rose spritzer, to help her face feel light and clean, to help her breathe in air with delight. I want my love and care to exasperate her, to strengthen her lungs. I want each part of my body entwined and twisted around hers. She dilly-dallies around in my thoughts and I chase her, giggling and gay. I laugh to myself at my daydreams of her. So profuse, and so flirtatious. I make a new life for her. I make a new life for myself. And this, my friends, is the opposite of anxiety. Saying that word, even, makes me frown. Why is pain so much more memorable than sweetness? Sweetness makes me feel I have no identity, time is gone, weight is gone, calculation is gone. Pain is heavy, weighted, and there is nothing but flame and I wait for time to stop ticking oh- so-slowly. Sweetness is the absence of time and selfhood in the form of honey, bees, and my beloved's face. Pinch me now!

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