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Painted Pictures


by Darryl Price


We danced once. It was something to do
that they couldn't quite shutdown without 
looking stupid and petty. We turned 
the lights down whenever we got the 
chance again. That's the point. We didn't 
stop looking for the experience, 

feeling something beyond misery.
Discovering something for ourselves.
They painted pictures of it, they wrote 
profound poems about it, they sang 
mad and sad songs about it, but we
kept it fresh in our hearts all the time.

We were alive with it, not regretting
losing it, every day. Not taking 
it out on others. It wasn't a 
Hollywood movie, it was a new 
day unlike any other. That's what 
you can't go back and reclaim as yours

and yours alone. That's what they mean when 
they say you only have one laugh to 
live. As long as you're still here now, you  
don't have to be lost anywhere else
in time. I watched them go, but didn't 
feel blessed to see them unravel so

fast after the party, one by one. 
And now, I'm familiar with the 
Gypsy sky, whether filled with heavy 
rain or thin air. Both as old companions 
and silver birds as they pass
the sand. I blame none for choosing to

live among the pretty red starfish 
over breakfast with a ghost, though I'm 
no weary stranger looking for an 
empty available room in the 
caring heart either. Your song is on 
the kitchen window sill as promised. 



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