You were the wrist before the hand.
The bite before the surrender.
And I was yours the moment you realized not every path could be seen with your eyes open.
I caught it in your smile or the red in your shirt and the way you almost blushed when I told you how your eyes made envious the diamonds in my pocket.
(later, I traded the diamonds for an apricot, and the apricot for some seeds: one for wickedness. one for bittersweet fruit with tiny plum stones for souls. and one, of course, for what follows – a seed for a smile, the cleverest kind)
We always reap what we sow, and we sow discord and laughter.
I would take laughter, discord, and bittersweetfruit over diamonds any day. Diamonds are cold and hard, lonely things.
When I see that you have posted, I rush over to read. Thank you.
Your writing leaves me hot and cold at the same time. It’s really quite remarkable.