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2018-10-07 - 3:45 a.m.

Only one left - Pomegranate Mango.
The cleaning man approaches.
How terrible to spill so many things
Over two fruits.
The first time I smelled it
Was autumn,
Like now.

A day trip to Stony Brook, whirlwinds of leaves,
a brand new start.
Fruit erases melancholy.
Along with a spring in my step,
A harbinger of hope,
My bottle and I
Returned to you.
The colors blurred from the Long Island Railroad.
But you can still see fall.
I say this in the message and count down the seconds it takes to send.
Watching my doubts circle above my head,
Like Vultures.
The imminent presence,
and the feeling that somehow they know
Whose turn is next.

We began that day.
Hitting the ground running,
Marking the years in Blue Fig and Cashmere, Vanilla, Almond and Honey.
The zesty pleasure of the Red Bottle -
Two fruits, abundance of memories -
Lost.
Until tonight.
"Old friends."
Drown the day out.
"Sat on their couches like bookends."
Swinging Pomegranate and Mango in its bag,
I lumber home.
Spring in my step,
A small harbinger of hope.
That acerbic scent, so striking, so alive
Must erase our melancholy.
No doubt.
No lump in my throat,
Nor stomach pit.
Nor any inkling that this bottle is it.
Our bookend.

And soon it will all be there,
The wonderful opening of my life
The juicy brilliant hope and zest of the train ride, the autumn leaves, the new found love -
A tale written on paper sheets, a moldable fantastic adventure.
A sketched girl with sunny simple plans, plain dress.
Embarking on our imaginary journey.
Together with you.
Once upon a time.
A beginning
And an end.

But Tonight -
I feel alive.
And when I look up
I see nothing!
Just hundreds of New York windows
Glittering my sky


 

 

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