Kiss


Kiss

It’s been said that writers breathe in sighs and less oxygen permeates the brain because of it. Today, there are several reasons to be sad and yet every step I am taking is about a story I want to tell, hoping to see light… I sit on the sofa and it absorbs my grief; my fingers meet rugged weaves that now feel what I feel. Sigh.

How to describe two beautiful eyes looking out from a window soaked in sun and somehow still dim without inflicting harm on the image? Everyone must accept their lot in life and somehow, I still refuse the hand I’ve been dealt. Should I be proud if I am dirty? Would I be proud if no one believes what I believe in?
I let go of these thoughts when I feel the sun warming my hand. That elusive happiness will be felt not in sighs but in smiles when I find it.

Text: © Lucius Bod
Image: © Day Donaldson/Flickr

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