I run into the garden of my dreams. The sky opens, the marigolds yawn, and then change colors.
Silence. The silence of the night when my head rested on your shoulder; the night in which the North Pole caught fire melting like a piece of butter on a heated pan.
An African violet beats her eyelashes at me. A second then she shrinks into oblivion. Her memory floats on my retina.
Spanish moss lingers on the murky waters of the Bayou.
A purple honeycreeper starts singing.
Smell of fresh cocoa penetrates my nostrils.
Old wounds crawl on my skin; columns of ants locking for honeydew on a tropical tree.
I fight back.
Your eyes turn from black to blue as they always do in the heat of passion.
Wait… I am not with you anymore. Who is with you? Sheets of time undulate; lonely drapes in the ocean’s breeze. I cannot see who is with you!
My breath accelerates.
I start running.
I hit a tree root.
Millions of colors burst into my eyes; pieces of time flow over the forest.
The sky closes. Marigolds cry.
Where are you?