Author S. K. Nicholas

The girl who dances. She’s honey and wine. Through fields of green, the leaves fall beneath her feet. Through the open window, the sun is replaced by endless clouds. Sometimes, the days offer nothing but despair. But in her heart, there’s a certain something. Those around her swallow themselves, they bow down to cheapness. To ego. It’s what they do. Once, she came close, but now she’s found her wings. A butterfly on the breeze of some balmy July night. All lights shine; all eyes upon her. They reach out their fingers to touch her delicacy, but she flies high. Sometimes, all you can do is watch. Transformation. Decadence. The riddles of her flesh, the scent of her hair. Rolling out of bed, she falls upon the sand and watches as the waves crash against the rocks ahead. The rocks are tiny, a million times smaller than dreams. Upon her belly, she has all the dreams she needs. I’m elsewhere; in a forest searching for the sun above. Blocked out by the trees, I’m lost without it. I’ve lost my way. Some autumn evening, the one where you meet again. Years had been and gone. The traffic was heavy, your heart beating. Nerves and palpitations galore, you approached the place where you always used to meet. This time, though, she was early. Focusing on her face as the others around you disappeared, you sighed at the smile spreading across her lips as she came into view. It was just the same as all those years ago. In slow motion, you wrapped your arms around her. The ensuing kiss. The myriad explosions rushing through your veins. The shifting sands of time come and go. Closing my eyes, I’m stood by the harbour. Ships and child bearing hips, ocean spray and ice cream. It’s vanilla, and her fingernails are painted blue.