Velvet parabolas
"I'm more into the dead sea romance— swirly graphs of anabiosis, salty depths of nothingness and coming full circle," I used to say, waving my open hand in circles to explain. "And, if I were to choose, romance would be like the cascading sheets of rain; gravel crunching on the ground and subsuming itself into oblivion." But then the change— no longer do the particles of salt stay solidified at the bottom— came along, and I am washed anew, as the ground destroys the abstract at face value. And no longer can I stay floating away from what's real, and what's real tends to flower and scale the towers of my guarded eyes. When I open my eyes I see in technicolor, I see beauty and love, small thoughts that I store in my favorite cabinets, just to look at and feel, all the time.