The greenest eyes

Once, I met this girl with eyes that shone the color of seawater. Her nose held freckles encouraged by the sun. Her ears never pierced. Her skin never inked. She was pure. This girl wore white more often than not. She loved bread and the beach. Learning was something this girl did best. Listening was not her skill. This girl’s life was nothing short of simple but that’s what made it extraordinary.

My grandpa says that there’s not much a good nap can’t solve. And you really don’t want to get in front of my grandpa and a nap. I have never been sleep’s biggest fan. I am a person who moves, one who loves the sky, dark or light, one with legs engaged and ideas in her eyes. A couple times throughout my life, my body has completely collapsed. The most recent time, I spent an entire week sleeping in a sterile, white, hospital room with one window that faced a pipe. I slept and slept and slept in that room and didn’t realize I was even exhausted.

This year seems to be presenting a very exquisite theme for me: revival of souls. Present all the time, perhaps, but momentous currently. Watching someone revived, physically, is incredible. It’s incredibly gruesome, incredibly stressful, incredibly odorous, and completely wet. Watching someone revived, spiritually, is fireworks from the heavens.

The girl with green eyes died with a razor blade and a bathtub as her companions. The ceiling was the last to say goodbye.