I could only smile
as you walked over
(in that quirky-jaunty way you do)
and handed me a flower.
I put it behind my ear
(because it was your idea
that I should do the “hot islander” thing)
but
after a while
I finally looked at the flower.
Golden, but dried on the edges.
(Im)perfect.
And (on the inside)
Was
a
spider.
I could’ve screamed,
(or elaborated on the symbolism of arachnids,
or said how something so wonderful
could really,
secretly,
contain something awful,)
but
I laughed, and set the flower onto a brick.
Because,
sometimes,
I like spiders.
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Comments
it's kind of depressingly hilarious.
--
"Artists can color the sky red because they know it's blue. Those of us who aren't artists must color things the way they really are or people might think we're stupid."
Comments = Love.
for example, back in middle school, the entire class would go into an uproar if they found a spider (or any type of insect) in class. (almost all of) the girls screamed bloody murder, and (almost all of) the boys wanted to stomp on it. i was the lone ranger trying to rescue it and put it back into the wild.
yay, rural america.
--
"Artists can color the sky red because they know it's blue. Those of us who aren't artists must color things the way they really are or people might think we're stupid."
Comments = Love.
As usual your comments in the parenthesis add a total other layer to the story you're telling.
Somehow you manage to find a balance between showing a brief glimpse of one moment, and making that moment seem to stand for so much more.
It's truly wonderful
--
~ Ars longa, vita brevis ~
--
"Artists can color the sky red because they know it's blue. Those of us who aren't artists must color things the way they really are or people might think we're stupid."
Comments = Love.
--
~ Ars longa, vita brevis ~
(tee hee... "quite awesome."
--
"Artists can color the sky red because they know it's blue. Those of us who aren't artists must color things the way they really are or people might think we're stupid."
Comments = Love.
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