Tuesday, May 10, 2011


I think once in a move i saw a woman leave for a trip with red painted nails.
Ever since, it's become one of things i do. Summer looks so much more promising when my red toes press deep into the horizontal lines of a gas petal. Spring feels so in blossom when there is dirt beneath the red tips of my nails- the kind that fills me up when my knuckles bend on the handlebars of my bike. In the winter; on my way home from way up here- as i sip my last mug of hot cocoa and let the car warm up, my hands anticipate travel. And how many of those fall runs, did i take barefoot with you following my red toes, and calling me crazy all the way.
But the night that i got on that plane last week, to go out and see you, my nails were blue.

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