Icy hot pinks and stardusted baby blues, I gleam along. Confusing days that pass me by in a whirlwind of sleepy sighs and bobbings of head, interesting, for sure. The quiet drawl, the lull before a candied revelation, the in-between passing of seasons that makes my senses inhale and exhale in anticipation; what’s to come? I’ve been getting hazier as the days paint their sequences repeatedly, perhaps it is the dimming of sparkle that always happens right after a peculiar high, a preparation of the self before another one. It comes, and it goes, this colorful showcase of mine. I hug the plushie too tightly, I acquire edge, I dream in and out of life, and I do it again. I am but a fairy princess waiting for a comet to strike, for my promotion into society to begin, or for my future place to be carved out of glitter glue and stubborn faux strength. Hazy, hazy, hazy. Marshmallows and ice cream, horrid to the tongue, tasty to the mind, colorful imagery. Hold the thought, dream some more, prepare. ‘Tis the limit before a new gleam, that’s it.
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