it seems, the delicate petals of my dreams are driven by the first foggy drizzles of rain. the tangled muscles in my stomach uncoil and i am content. it is de ja vu over and over, finally i am where i am supposed to be. the garden soil between my fingers and your voice at my back. the souls in our eyes, laughing. i am color, the dangling fragments of photons engraved in my pupils, pushing vivid photographs into the grooves of my brain. this is my life, the scrapbook pages of tender stories, the woven days and fluid years, i hope to remember. the mirror, it’s distorted image, progresses to a clarity, through the windows of my pores i catch a glimpse of the woman inside. shut in, almost forgotten, she smiles in silent relief. a solid foot on the ground, my bones pound the pavement, i can feel the binding beat of my heart, the pumping purpose through my veins. as i watch the burning pheonix that is my life, i am redone, and in the deepth of my sorrow and my joy, i can only think of you.