In this month of March, when spring should have been, I’m half blinded by the sun blaring into my face. And yet beneath strands of loose hair, hazy brown in light, there’s a smile radiant inspite of the heat and exhaustion.
There is an absence of wind in this static day, but the entropy of thoughts is plentiful.
As they flicker through my head they form polaroids of your pretty face. Sometimes you’re smiling, sometimes lost in thought and sometimes looking at me. You gaze is blinding like the sun in my eyes, but it’s an illuminated darkness in which I lose my shadows and substance.
It is love- the kind they write about in ballads and books and poetry. I know it because it’s writ in the morning sun, the wearing day and the waking night.