Watermelon
Chapter 1: Watermelon
Sickening sweet taste of my childhood, bottled up, in peaches, white grape, and vanilla. Smooth but sour. Childhood, my land of enchantment, life, my ever lasting childhood. To write is to step onto a magic carpet and fly off into endless trips of nostalgia. Despair tastes sweet, like peaches, and white grapes, and the smell of vanilla. Personalities contained in bottles of scent, fragrances defying analysis. I am passionate about the sense of smell, taste, touch. Vision—the looking at the surface, it eludes me, it leaves me utterly befooled. Nothing is to be trusted except the most banal sentimentalism. I form my conclusions only through pure, heart wrenching emotion. And that’s where it all begins.
Magic carpet ride,
Transcended in the folds of time,
Ever on a mobile pedestal
Watching while I’m being watched
Cornered, yet above, beyond…
Feeling myself flying,
Masses of humanity, interlinked, unlinked,
Abstraction, it’s useless. But the last solace for many people. Thinking about why we meet who we meet, the pattern behind every coincidence that forms my life. If there was one, it seemed sweet, sickeningly. Heart wrenchingly elusive. Stories that defy a normal ending.
Mango, orange, apricot. Almond. Oil of ulay. Smells wafting through my brain, associated with different names. Him? Apricot… water melon….. His smell is salty sweet, fruity flower, flowery fruit-
I already miss you.
Trying to escape mush, but that’s how it is- you are my all, though I’d never say it. Not to you. Bicycle rides, picnics in the sun, lawns unmowed, tall trees making shades in the corner. Sparrow nests, plant life, the rays of the sun. Unsuspecting sun, like orange juice, fortified with vitamin C, blindingly orange. I love to drink the sun. The moon is milky white, banana milkshakes that are more white than pale creamy yellow. A stream of elixir. A trail of star dust. Eating water melon in pieces, consuming rain water. Monsoon rain. Eating rain in the dry humid summer.
Smoking a cigarette, swallowing fire.
To be forever on an abstract cloud of sensation. Cheers. Who needs drugs?
His touch… sometimes like gentle rain. At other times like a storm… lightning tracing my veins. Sea shores and oceans engulfing us all some day. The end of humanity, the ultimate. His eyes make me uneasy, vulnerable but protected, and I don’t need protection. I’ll suspect his goodness till the day I die, when I can feel it in my bones. His love will make me feel guilty.
But it’s so good to know. To know that some one watches over me. That I matter like life and death.
A thousand kisses fly through the ethers to land on the specified target.
-Talia
