—mint leaves and my hair— whenever my ambience grows thick with the smell of mint leaves, my fingers resolve their past issues with my taste buds. i tiptoe to kitchen and bend over the steel container that has mint leaves separated from their stems, letting my neck-length hair fall over my sides — that blinds the Holy view of fresh leaves prettified with drops of cold water. still, i don't brush them away. what a sight! catching glimpses of my own green heaven betwixt strands of hair. as my finger tips touch and hold the leaves, i sandwich them between my desire and their affair, and put them in my mouth crushing and deforming all that they've inherited. all this while, my hair keeps swinging, while sunlight floods and filters through them, to show how hope can reach even the thinnest of gaps, we leave. essence. _____ just because you all are not complaining about my meaningless posts, i keep posting them. dugh. ______
