Imagine an apple drifting on the sea. Day breaks and a piece up
towards the top turns
a little brown. One singular leaf stuck to the middlest valley in between two red mountains curving to meet at the bottom. Like a wilted umbrella, little width, much rain. Soon, like a child’s tooth that has hung on for a little too long, that sliver of leaf breaks from its fruit, finds itself adrift. And this apple of the ocean toasts a little more hastily; a sunburnt sinking ship sailing towards all the nothing. And as that soaked strip of leaf, paled with photosynthesis, goes dripping down the apples’ perimeter, she stays hidden inside, the core of this fruits’ lifedeath. She, an infant, cuddles in her form, with the juice spread around her, and she doesn’t move. Her head sunk down into her bellybutton, her toes splayed in applesauce mash, her eyes squeezed
Shut against the liquid sugars.
She has always been this way. She would always be this way.
Yet,
As the sun kissed stronger, and the oceans’ wet lips smothered faster, that apple
the safe zone
the home
Would disintegrate
There, it’s disintegrating
Caving in, becoming shriveling, embarking on the adventure of rot. And the babe, stuck in the midst of this hurricane
The eye of the storm
Would seem to grow bigger to burst
Through the sunken insides
Breaking through skin
Flushed out the bottom
And gravity would speak:
Sink, child, see
Yuna fall into destiny
Yuna goes to the depths of me
And the child went obliged to seek nothing, to understand nothing
Passing through
Until, with a tug something caught. Perhaps it was the lifedeath conundrum. Perhaps it was fate. For it seemed rather unknowingly that a segment of Yuna
Her gums to be exact
Had clamped around a string
And her stronger-than-sun kiss with stronger-than-ocean lips
Puckered
Gaze shooting up to rest upon a savior, an anti-gravity pull, a life tug
Surrender up, succumb to the rise
Said the balloon.
Yet with all its good intention and freedom of weight, Yuna got caught up in the clouds of the sky
Where the air is too thin
And her lungs became dry. What left to do but become like a rock?
Yuna curls, crutches, crouches
Till the tips of her toes and the crack of her butt
Entered the tip of the oceantop
And as if starting over
From babe to balloon
Yuna the child had an expansion to do. She had to tread mighty hard and swim mighty far, and perhaps one day find land. Until then, Yuna the ageless will deflate
will pop
will wait
will drop
Into her lifedeath, whatever it may be, whether she remembers her apple, keeps the balloon, travels in circles of lines or backwards, sinks to deeper blues, floats to higher heights, finds something new
A survival of impermanence
Once clasped
Now
soaked,ripped,Unglued
Best Ballons around here !
haha thank you!