aliceblack

Of all the things I've kept my own I hold my memory the tightest. Vast throes of white oleander, reaching out in rows like roots. Thousands of tiny green hands and fings.ers hissing in the breeze clutching peppered blossoms in the Summer. A kin to poison, though the very sweetest kind. We were emperors and kings there, as in any childhood. The smell of acorns and moss leading home, mud covered shoes and the ringing sound of play. I'm a wildfire born of water. I'm the memory of dreams.