Jun 02
Yellow Sweater's picture

In the Morning

In the Morning, I listened to Classical Music. 

I was a Child, the piano an escalator. we danced, the stairs and I, shackled to heaven’s baroque architecture, to the Music’s swollen joints. our Knees creaked, lamenting: we’re as old as Mozart, and he only lasted a couple of decades before he expired into History.  

I was Scared of being a Child. 

the Sun hurt my eyes. the dew took too long to evaporate. I hated the fact that I had never tasted coffee. I told my mother that I wanted granola instead of Peanut Butter Puffin Puffs. 

the Day was a Cathedral. 

us Children built a society, a city in the Rose bushes. we bent the brambles into arches that could support the weight of our Symmetry. we made our world into something delicate. and our Bones were stretched, de-calcified. 

In the evening, I read High Fantasy. 

I convinced myself there was a world where Fantasy could be High, where Classical Music was eternally popular, where the Sun was steady, where History didn't expire, where there was no such thing as Peanut Butter Puffin Puffs, where Cathedrals and Rose Bushes had a Symbiotic relationship, and where Bones were not made from Bone.