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For a DateI would like to go somewhere where I could hear you talk,
Hear you tell me everything that ever mattered to you,
And if you enjoy making out under the moonlight,
I would then like to ask you to do it again.
I would like to cuddle your hand to my chest,
Curl your hair around my sleeves,
Wipe the snow from your eyes,
And flower that little smile to soften your lips.
And I love to feel your soft lips on me,
Emotions behind everything you whisper in my ears,
Happiness in every one of your silly smiles,
Touching the spark in me that is now completely yours.
ResilienceWhen I was young, I loved to watch my father work. I used to think sparks were dangerous, so I would sit far enough away that the fire could not reach me. But I could still feel the heat, watching sparks rise high into the smoky air.
I was terrified of darkness. I would sleep with a candle burning to protect me, but shadows invaded my dreams. I pretended I was a dragon, filled with flames. Fearless.
No one believes in dragons anymore. No one believes in fire, either. I've grown up into the age of electricity, where fire is too hot and too wild to touch. Why risk burning yourself when light and heat are ready at the flip of a switch? It's much safer to shiver in the glow of civilization than to risk getting burnt.
The lights of cities surround me, outshining the stars. The mess of humanity clusters around the light like moths. They're all just afraid of the dark. I think back to the years I spent pretending to be brave.
When I was young, I loved to watch my mother light
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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