Marigolds #Morning Fantasy

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.

Pain.

Millions of colors burst into my eyes; pieces of time flow over the forest.

The sky closes. Marigolds cry.

Where are you?

@short-prose-fiction