Impact

And so this one's for you.

Because my voice is minimalistic.

And everything you do is extravagant. And lavish.

Because that's how you are.

Please believe me, I don't crticize you for it.

In fact, I envy it.

You and I both conceded to reality.

A different reality.

That day, (the day with no real date) that can exist only as a collection of memories, It rained.
It seemed complacent. The rain. Too sedate for lightning, too threatening for peace.

Of course it crossed my mind. More than once.

More than once I reflected through every lens. Including the colored ones.
But it only changed superficial details, and never all of them. At least not for the better.

All I had left was the apple core.

The top and bottom bearing the only green skin remaining. A grim reminder.
The rest of the core was seeded and mostly brown (It had been exposed). But I put it on my bookshelf.

It was out of sight and out of mind.

I went outside frequently. Never for anything specific, though often I would ride a bicycle.
I rode the bicycle through an orchard most days, until bending the frame on a tree.

I moved the apple core to my night stand, next to my bed.

They would take me out for coffee and I always ordered tea.
I didn't ever make the toast, but of course I would drink to it. I had to.

It rained again. Only this time more violently.

That night, when it rained, it was dark. Dark enough to kill the moon. And it did.
And the blackness above yelled and cracked its white whip. Punishing the earth.

The next clear day I came to you with the core.

You took it into the kitchen and offered me a cup of tea.
I drank it quickly and insisted on leaving, though I had no real reason to go. But I left.

I never saw what you did with the remnants of that apple.



And so this one's for you.

Beacuse my voice is minimalistic.