talking about my baby

Under the big bright yellow sun.

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Spring is always the oddest of seasons. This in between season of warmth and cold air, that’s wrapped up with the rays of the sun. It always made it seem that our skin called out to the sun to shine with us so warmly. Taking away the harsh reminders of the winter months. Oh, how we flock to the sun with it’s magnificently golden rays turning every thing it touches into reds, yellows, and bright oranges. The way the wind dances through your skin and on to every tree branch. Watching the blossoms from the trees, flood the streets with rains of petals through the wind. The wind screeching like thunder from the rain. I think about that moment. How no matter how dark I dyed my hair it always radiated red undertones in the sun. How on that rooftop I spent drinking in the sun mesmerized by colors and fragrant reminders of moments trapped in the past. Out of the scrapbook of memories I always think about that moment.

Can you see it? Can you remember an instant where a season transported emotions in a memory?

How the winds changed course and how big and bright the sun was in the afternoon. I could have spent an eternity on that rooftop. Over looking the streets and watching people walking to god knows where. I loved the sun at that moment. I loved how cold the wind felt and how the warmth of the drinks changed my mood and thoughts. In that moment I felt every bit of spring. I felt the sun wrap me up in it’s afternoon rays of sunshine glory. I wish I still had those photographs. Photographs of springs spent careless in the sun and believing at that moment, everything was happening for me. Even the photograph wouldn’t show how much I loved that moment. How much I loved that rooftop and looking back how much I loved that fucking city.

Everything.

Under the big bright yellow sun.

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