Placing the slightly uncomfortable moment into a jar to open every now and then
to feel that instant in time. The moment when everything made sense and people
were people, you were you and I was finally myself.
Placing the scent of that afternoon into parchment. The scent of the beginning
of melting asphalt, of intoxicating petals breathing a sigh of relief
to the night. 'Oh it's you,' they whisper, 'thank goodness.'
Placing the sight of the sun into a bottle of swirling liquid. White orange
pink indigo. The ball of flames is etched into their eyes, the oval of mouths
and their furious blinking will never erase the negative circle that will
be forever burned into the inside of their skulls.