Honeysuckle
Sophia Liu it occured to me that maybe it wasn’t even too long ago when we went to the honeysuckle bush after school. i placed my lower lip by the stem and pinched it with my baby teeth, felt the gold wine trickle down my throat again and again as if it was a drug or you were my drug. i felt euphoric. both of us threw the cream flowers on the ground as they were swept away by the summer breeze. when the gust of autumn came, nothing stood below me but the pewter concrete and the sharpness of regret. why is it only now that the yearning intensifies? it’s been years since i’ve touched the naples-yellow monkey bars or slid down the serpentine-red slide. i thought of you sometimes but was distracted by the blue skies or the barren twigs or sometimes even a violet tulip that would come and go. i could teach myself to love the passing, but not even the tulips could compare to the sweetness of a honeysuckle bush because when the rain flows down my neck & shoulders, it hollows out an irreplaceable emptiness i tried so hard to fill. when my windows fog up, i think maybe there is no more honeysuckle bush. |