Fictional Spring · Dazaiosamu
False Spring
Murmuring,the days hurtling away,a picture in low saturation.What we had managed to doonly made that small, slightly parched patch of desertslowly grow damp.She stared blankly at the infant, its scales aglitter,holding its mother’s life and her frail breast in its mouth.The clam cracked with dryness.“Love”carries the searing heat of a spring day.The unresolved answer sinks into water,imitating the faintly briny fish-thought. Vision clear,the road ahead in the rearview mirror,white daisies barely opening on either side.Let it be.Put the key in your pocket,then go home without looking back. She slipped the strap from her right shoulderand, like a cloud too overcast on some future afternoon,began to flicker.