Mermaid Storm

Love makes small things more than their size. I will wear macaroni necklaces and run my hands across cinder blocks where family and friends gathered to add fire, meat and wine into little moments. I will admire the straggly plants that fail to comply with the images of a thousand magazines and television programs doing with lush jungles.

I will wear the froth of the waves, ephemeral and dizzy with the memory of places where the sun has never gazed, and recall all the times I scoffed at the little weaknesses of others. The times when a great with in the sleeve was cause for misdirection rather than empathy.

Love has a way of burning bright because it is fuelled by the colour, taste and smell of the world. It robs those properties from the rest of the world unnoticed, until loves object is taken away and the drab she’s of your life are revealed in their mundanity. Who then would ever deny the opportunity to let love burn the oxygen from the room?

I will stand in the wake of a mermaid storm, and hear the metronome tick in the crashing of the waves. Those shores draw us all near, the small things shimmer like pearls and sapphire sea. The casual set of badly laid pavers and immaculate lawns will hold my thrall when you illuminate it all with your lives.

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