Do you remember those spoons which used to change with the temperature so you always knew if your soup was too hot or too cold... or maybe just right? Well, mine stopped changing. I don't remember when it stopped, but it did. And yesterday, no matter how much I tried, its yellow wouldn't budge.
Yellow- like the dandelions which will always be flowers to me, and the sun when she's smiling, and the flash of a moment being captured. Yellow- like the uncertainty of the in between, when you can't decide if you should stop or go.
Should I go?
I've been standing on corners too often these days. There are worlds of opportunity, but I'm too afraid to touch them. Sometimes, I catch myself reaching out, fingers unfurling unconsciously.
Stop.
I love the smell of after rain because it tastes like freedom.
