norma kamali INCENSE

The closest I’ll ever get to a rollercoaster is this playground right here. Steel pipes dragon back their way across a mulch filled pit. Logs, gray from weather, connect the pipes, going up and down, up and down.

Finding this quiet playground had me ecstatic just moments ago. I was sitting on the lowest log at my highest point. The shadow play and textures were amazing. I photographed what was in front of me and behind me. I wanted to remember this simple discovery forever.

I got up and climbed until descending was the only thing left. I turned my back towards the sun. Wearing all black was a good choice  today. My body got hot and the scent of incense became stronger.

A group of kids massed themselves onto the log across from mine and stared at me while blowing balloons. One had a head of fluffy curls and the other two had shaved heads. They weren’t scared of me. I’m only a witch to adults.

I thought about being their age and telling my mother I didn’t love her.

I get sad when I think of people who have never been loved properly: people like my mother were left by their drunkard fathers, people like my mother who married a drunk, people like my mother who never heard sincere compliments so don’t know how to give them.

She sounded sick on the phone today and before she hung up told me that she likes my facebook pictures. She thinks they’re funny and likes my outfits. This is basically my mom’s way of saying, “I think I’m very sick. I’m worried I might be dying.”

I know how to give sincere compliments. My parents didn’t teach me, though –  Robert did. Love raised him. He was never selfish with the things he learned and he taught me how to live a love filled life.

Even now, after all I’ve learned, I rarely compliment my mother. I rarely tell her I love her; in that way, I am still a child.

Children are brutally honest.

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