The Walgreens coolers aren’t cool. The hollowed-out stumps hug the Fanta-orange tulips (she loves tulips). You’re scouting out perches, not-so-secret gardens, and benches if they’re free around noon. These unending days make you feel invincible, but also bring a tinge of nightly turbulence. Are you sun-kissed or is that sucker-punched feeling just a fever? You indulge in three-hour naps. You dream of Managuan rainstorms, but then remember what humidity does to your hair. You miss the snow because it was new, but you like the trees because they are old. “They weren’t supposed to have flowers on them.” But they do. You’ve always liked generous seasoning, but you never quite understood the seasons like you did on Tuesday.
It’s these big, little changes that grip you.
Your friend wears silver streaks in her hair, but she’s not graying—she’s just bored. It’s a blissful sort of restlessness. Dangerous, even.
You asked her for blue streaks in yours.
The sprouting of spring feels like the tinsel tied to your curls. It glimmers, it hides. It tucks behind your ears, and sometimes when they see it, strangers speak to you for no reason at all.
