Small Town Love


In the middle of nowhere, the flowers here bloom in colours of violet and pink. I take out my camera to snap a picture. There is something about the way the sun hits the petals, showing the delicate leafs. I have walked miles, up and down hills. I know this place like the back of my hand. The waving hills welcome me back every July, free of frost as the sun smiles hovering over the sapphire sky. Awaking to the beeping alarm, my dad and I take on the day through translucent eyes, singing along to the music bouncing back and forth through speakers. We pass by a red barn, three horses roam free. One is white with black spots. His mane blows with the wind. One is Brown and beautiful, he peers over in my direction. One gallops like he is chasing his dreams, catching some kind of desire. I name them all. They wander every morning through the green fields. We slow down just to look. Just to capture this moment. I lower my window. The wind brushes the strands of my hair as the sun shines, brighter than any star. This is bliss, I tell myself. This is everything, I tell myself. There are people here who remember my name. They remember the little girl with sweet curls of brown hair. They remember a shy, quiet girl. They remember me. We greet and we work. I smile graciously. The day slips through my fingertips as everyone heads home. We all meet up for dinner. The same place as always, The rocking horse. Their faces fill with laughter and happiness. Together, we pick conversation until yawns are released. We do it all again tomorrow. 


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