Oranges

I believe in oranges,

In the great spurt of juice that rushes out as I peel its skin, in the viscera that clings to my own. I believe in the sweet sunshine of laughter-

In glorious windy days, watching the clouds dance, fluttering hands finding their way back to each other, open to the sprinkle of wanderlust that lands gently on fingers, hands that place colorful chips on the game board without a care in the world, placing bets on our futures in worn, ink-stained journals, discussing the kaleidoscopes of our dreams…

I believe in oranges,

In rotting, decaying ones, thoughts rattling in my head like the husks of prehistoric creatures,  their rib cages of flickering streetlights-

In fruit so fleshy it could be mistaken for frailty, in the girl sitting on the curb quietly in the dead of night, tears streaming down her face as only the moon blinks back, a distant, singular heartbeat, in dark figures scurrying into shadows, in what it feels like to kill someone, in the metallic taste of blood, it must be warm, indulgent… the girl wondering if the moon hates her, wondering if she hates the moon…

I believe in oranges,

In its delicate slices, peeled apart with the ease nature has so clearly intended for; they were made to be shared, I know this to be true-

In a wordless exchange of glances, a twinkle in the old man’s eye so bright he just might’ve been writing to Daisy, so bright that diamonds have been thrust from the sky, the earth turned on its head, the thunderous applause of heartbeats exploding, pounding rain, hands reaching out to grasp what’s just out of reach…

Only oranges. A distant, collective heartbeat.

Only oranges. My heartbeat.

I believe in them,

oranges.