What was it that made my brief walk home from my neighbourhood bar so unapologetically lavishly feminine and dauntless? An anomaly of exposure and tenacious durability.
Perhaps the few glossy cups of overly sweet, effervescent bubbles downed at UXC‘s Happy Hour, the deliciously silly acknowledgment of my first pair of Jimmy Choos waiting at home, or the thick drops of Washington rain falling on my cheeks? Maybe none of those things. Perhaps it materialised from a moment derived of a day or two ago, a compliment shared in darkness or a glance at the plushness of a belatedly ripe peach at the grocery store. Things can be strange that way.
The lift felt in the few hundred steps after one two many slices of pepperoni pizza slick with grease as cold wetness fell into my eyes isn’t something I’ve felt in months; the energy coursing through each artery vigorous and strong as Dim the Lights pulsed through the cables connected to my phone, translating every beat into a life I understand- or try to. Unafraid, my nose tilted to greet the wetness descending from my beloved clouds onto my warm, cider flushed skin.
The glare of headlights would warn me of another’s presence from yards away, the succinct oscillation of bedroom lights an indication of the vibrant life around me- all quiet and private in the slope of the place where I live. Where right now, I feel I actually might belong.
Histrionics of the past may haunt my dreams, but the realisation of the lush present staggers me back into my softly vicious and utopian existence. This water, this heated numbness: I walk with face exposed to the gorgeously pitchy night, humming to myself like a pure maniac.