All Her Favorite Fruits

Breakfast is always like this in the morning: Pepsi and dry Coco Krispies. My sad little vending machine existence.

But last night i hugged someone i thought i would never see again. Last night i heard a voice i thought i heard a million times in my dreams. And he was older. And a little grey. And in those moments, those minutes that felt like tiny deaths, he was everything. He was my glass of vodka and my cherry, he was my burned out cigarette and my lungs; he was my longing for death and my reason to go on. He was the music and the crowd. Everything in him, and he in everything. He cast his shadow long over Fourth Ave under the lamp posts and neon lights, and i basked in it. Darin S. Evans, with his sport coat and his blue eyes, and me, with me silly fascination and my eternal sadness, always sitting on the horizon of the impending morning.

Nothing ever changes.

This morning, however, my Pepsi tastes like champagne and these dry Coco Krispies taste like Kiwi Fruits, Strawberries, plums, and amazing Ranier Cherries.