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Sometimes Sunshine

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Sometimes sunshine makes me feel delicious, when we share a box of Oreos on your back porch until your mom arrives home and steals the box away, and it was about time but we still both throw up anyway.

Sometimes sunshine makes me feel cool, when we sneak out of our houses just before nighttime, just to watch the sun go down in our local park from the best view, on top of the gazebo that people are forbidden to climb on but we do so anyway.

Sometimes sunshine makes me feel alive, when we arrive at the county fair and we ride rides until the end of the day, when you suggest the ferris wheel, and when we get to the top and you kiss me, my first kiss, and I swear for a moment time stops and we hang suspended, swinging.

Sometimes sunshine makes me feel restless, when you suggest the thirty-third game of Uno in my living room, but my little sister suggests dress-up and manages to capture you and put you in an apron and skirt and make you drink tea with her dollies, and you're so embarrassed but I take pictures and show them to all of our friends anyway.

Sometimes sunshine makes me feel crazy, when we are jamming out in your car on the long way home from a camping trip two states away and we stop for ice cream and it gets all over your car but you dont care and you grab my hand, covered in ice cream and all, and everything is perfect.

Sometimes sunshine makes me feel disoriented, when you lose control and the tires are squealing and there's glass everywhere, and then there's nothing, nothing at all.

Sometimes sunshine makes me feel worn out, when I sit by your hospital bed and the sun lights up your face and gives me false hope that you'll live through the night, but the doctor is shaking his head and I know the truth.

Sometimes sunshine makes me upset, when I stand at the edge of the graveyard, and there's a weird taste, this salt water dripping down my face and there are tulips in my hand, your favorite, of course, but I can't get any closer and I can't face the truth.

Sometimes sunshine makes me feel angry, when I throw the presents you got me, each and every one of them, out of my bedroom second story window and the glass shatters and litters the ground and I have to pick up the pieces by myself and they all remind me, they all scream out a thousand memories I should recall, but the pieces are too small and you're gone.





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Leah said...
Dec. 29, 2008 at 8:23 pm
Very good
 
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