alais-photography

i. "Did you know that in Spain, executioners once wore yellow?" She smiles at the early daffodils and their bell-heads nod once-twice in agreement as I set them on her bedside table. My mouth opens in reprimand but she raises one finger, and adds, "But women waiting for their men to come home from the war also used to wear yellow ribbons as a sign of hope." ii. "Did you know that once upon a time, they made black paint from charred bones?" She has mastered the art of rhetorical statements and I don't try to catch her eye. We both know she's not really here, and I know that she knows that I am thinking about how her bones will never be b

We are agoraphobic little children, weaving gold from straw and placing spider kisses on handkerchiefs. You play a game of ocd and multiple personality disorders in which you will pluck hair from my bangs and dangle choices upon fine copper string. I'm sure your name has more than six letters because the best things in the world are never even, and your favourite colour will not be blue, or purple, but rather indigo or puce. You will be my four-leaf clover and downy feather, a gift from angels long departed. I know for a fact you will refuse to bury your face in my neck because yours will be far too beautiful to hide from such a grey world.