Orange, she said. And she was right.
So I tipped my fingers and toes with a sparkling splash of it, a translucent shimmering gold. Smudged my eyelids with a bit of cocoa, topped with tiger-eye, and honey-blushed my cheeks. Every piece pulled from the wardrobe has spoken the same language: Laughter. Great peels of it, or short, giggling bursts.
Orange, she said. She's always right you know?
The last of the season with all it's colors, tastes, and textures is slipping away. I've been gathering up as much of it as possible, desperate to hold it close. But it's getting away one piece at a time. I wake often these nights to the sound of the wind chimes and lie still, remembering my dreaming.
11:14 p.m. - 2006-08-19
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