I sit on the front porch of my home, reading, observing the seldom happenings of my quiet neighbourhood. The smell of fresh-cut grass that once brought upon the childhood memories of my youth now hinder between the nostrils with a threatening essence, staged to perfection around the symphony of my sneeze.
I changed the oil of the Black Mamba all under the sunny shelter of today's beauty rays. Memory would have me replay a role where I saw her image walk toward me as I hid under the weight of my car. And then dirt made my eyes itch. Thank you Ms. Allergy for awakening my song.
Birds sing, I sing - though not in sync, not as painful as the contortion of my core. It is a beautiful day to be sitting outside my front porch, dreaming of what is to come, of what I will do with the days to come.
If only Ms. Allergy would be so kind as to let me go sooner and not make me cry throughout the summer, I will take a walk by the bushes of her greens, and a stroll down memory lane of my inner youth.
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