"I remember love. When it came and when it did not. And most certainly, I remember you.” And Isabel’s truth hung in the air like some magnificent thing, tangible and frightening in its certainty. An acrobat with its colorful sleeve clad arms entwined with the swing, ready to fall and come to a dramatic conclusion but stuck, as if the entire world were still.
The Color of Chocolate
They are the color of chocolate, his eyes. And his hair is an even darker shade of brown. He reminds me of indulgences; of warm chocolate mousse desserts and the damp soil, parting like the red sea around my fingers as I sink my hand into my work. It's a constant vigilance that my mother keeps, smiling patiently and poking me gently in the ribs to chase away my daydream and call me back to till the soil with her. It's routine, nothing changed from childhood; he is my dream, waking and in sleep.