1.23.2003

 
A drop of red paint splattered on my soul, and I looked up to find from whence it came.

The sky was clear, the air crisp, but the source of the color on my essence remained hidden to me.

I sat there watching the steam wafting up from my styrofoam cup of hot chocolate and trying to discern the happenings in my field of vision, distorted by the waves of heat raising from the beverage in front of me. My eyes kept trying to convince me that a line of flying cars passed before me, that to my right sat a group of picnickers enjoying their nutritious food cubes and that the hospital just short of the horizon was entering the throes of final demolition, but instinctually I knew they lied to me.

"Still upset about that?" she quietly asked me.

My silence belied my inability to move on.

"Wish you could fix it?"

I nodded my assent.

Thirty seconds later the past had remedied itself and we were back on the lawn, this time completely happy with the moments around us.

I lay back to stare skyward again, searching for the source of red that had left such a mark within me. The clouds started a short story in the sky: a teddy bear, a flower, a dollar sign. Her fingers intertwined themselves among mine, and the day continue to roll forward.