printemps

The sun paints my walls an orange-red at 5 pm, setting over mountaintops outside my window.
If I could ever find just that shade, I'd paint my house in it, just to make it last longer on the walls.

Spring is arriving once again. I no longer shiver myself to sleep, but rather stir in the middle of the night,
restless, wide-eyed, hungering for something new, somewhere new.
Perhaps, someone new.

I am unbinding, clamps gripping into my skin loosening with the lengthening of the days. I ebb and flow with the pull of the moon, wiser, impassioned, desirous.

Warm, lethargic evenings tease me into slumber.
I am awakening.