she has her days.

the back door was left open at the temple tonight. red velvet chairs all connected at the base. scattered occupants waiting for a word. from god, from a man, from who? i don't know either. the boy in the third row wants to know. his eyes look lost. i shake my head and keep on walking. i don't have your word, boy. today is one of my bad days.

i tap my toe on the concrete to keep time. but i miss you. and because it's a bad day i don't know what i think about time. if i could cheat it, i would. if i could slow it down or make it go a little faster; or if i only had all the time in the world. how do i make peace with this? this ever moving force that i can neither forget nor predict. and right now i'm sitting in it. just sitting. sitting, when all i want to do is jump. leap, even. but i'm scared. and i want you there. what if there's no one there to leap with me? and so i tap my fingers on my heart to keep it going. it's just one of those days.

if i go to bed early enough it might make it stop. but it doesn't. i've slept on a soaked pillow for weeks now. and still i'll have to wake up, and remember to breathe in and out. but i don't think i'm doing a good job these days. at living. my room is cold. cold enough to let me know that i am lying here. cold enough to feel. and the darkness. the darkness might as well swallow me, because i can't see where it ends. the glow-in-the-dark constellations above me are fading. five minutes with the light on and they'll last another hour, give or take. today was a bad day. and going to bed early was a bad idea. because there's that time thing again. and i'm just lying in it. not to mention that it's cold enough to feel. another night and i'll curl up beside myself, pillow soaked. tomorrow is another one of my bad days. i can tell.

i don't have your word, boy. not today. wait for the good ones. sit a while. she has her days.

life is a brightly colored song.

everytime i sit here she asks the same question. "can i read your palm?"

"no thanks." i say it nicely. why doesn't she ever remember that she's already asked me this?

but tonight it was different.

"i couldn't help but notice that your aura is showing all kinds of bright colors."
no question. yet. i smile politely. i don't know much about aura's. but i guess if i'm going to have one that others can see, a bright multi-colored one is a pretty good one. better than gray. or even chartreuse, if an aura could even handle a color like chartreuse. i'm still smiling.

and there comes the question. "i read palms, do you mind if i read yours?"

"no thanks." i say it nicely.

the moomoo is a fascinating fashion statement. basically, it's like wearing one large button up dress shirt. except you have to be old, and usually a lady. with short grey hair and a weathered face. the two old ladies that just passed me were wearing them. floral patterns at their best. a couple christmas' ago, grandma gave me one of her many moomoo's. it even smells like her. i plan on wearing it when i am old and grey. the short plump one pauses for a moment and smiles me in the eye. i can only guess its because of the many colored aura i am transmitting right now. i smile back from a place inside of me where the color orange lies. orange because she was warm and full of peace, and that's what kind of smile she made me find. her aura was a deep orange. at least that is what i would guess if i could see aura's.

i should have gotten a warm mocha, not an iced one. how was i to know? the crickets are pretty loud tonight. even out on this busy street corner. here she comes again. will she... sure enough. "still not interested?"

"no thanks." i say it nicely.

what a lovely song the night plays. with its colors and sounds and flavors. an aura filled with Life.