raw mangoes sprinkled with chili powder, the sharp, spicy seasoning amalgamating with the sweet saliva in our mouths; for when she confessed to me that she sometimes felt relief in distress, comfort in unease, solace in trouble.
balloons going pop, tiny toy bullets colliding with multicolored plastic; for when she told me about her hopes and dreams that would float around, only to be burst by the ones she loved (and the ones she did not).
little green parrots hopping about, picking tarot cards with their tiny beaks and predicting the future; for when she wondered about her own, things that could be and should be but things that weren’t, yet.
sandcastles being built and torn down; for when she reminded me that what goes up must come down, what is created must be destroyed, and what we get attached to, we must dissociate with.
and finally, corn on the cob, charred nearly black over a coal-fueled stove, golden sparks flying around against the dimming horizon; for the darkness within her that came before blinding glimmers of hope.
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