Today you will dream in Russian and wake with the smell of vanilla. As you catch yourself singing Motley Crue songs, you will taste the menthol cigarettes of your teens. You will swim in nostalgia and for once this will make you laugh with your eyes and your mouth. You will desire red fruit for lunch and lick the juice that runs across your palms like blood. You will allow people to sit next to you on the tram without physically recoiling. Others will gravitate to your uncharacteristic desire to experiment, and you will find yourself ordering coffees you can’t pronounce. Words will flow from your fingertips and pour onto the page in a torrent of black ink. You will tie your hair in a knot secured with cinnamon sticks and wear cherry red lipstick so bright that strangers stare. You will remember the taste of his fingers and smile gently. You will read Nietzsche with a German dictionary on your lap and sit for an hour without moving as the gloaming spills gold over your back yard. You will drink tequila in brandy balloons and email people you’ve never met in countries you can’t spell. You will walk through your house wearing just your skin and its etchings, and not flinch as you glide past the windows. You will understand that this Winter Solstice heralds the new cycle, and you will tattoo this on your flesh in spirals of black and red, forever spinning you between your past, future, and your ever glorious present. And as night-time coils around your bed, you will dream in Russian again.
© bellmusker 2007