After a last time very emotional posting, prompted by the love lives of others, i narrate this reply to the posted comment.
Why the grass looks greener.
i was in love with a lush green valley, a tea filled meadow that flavoured the air with a heady scent that carried me away.
How on earth did i find myself here. I wanted to paint the colours i saw on a flag, but alas, they already belong to one country’s flag. a land of a thousand shades of skin and a thousand hearty delicious soups. Wondering whether i was in the right place i walked on and rejected the call of this river-god. Even mortals have resistance.
So what if there was no comparison to the loaded gifts and furtive glances in my direction. So what if the other person i could “see” called me a ‘smore’, black as black can be but desirable. So what if i did not recognise the racial slur. So what if the call of the lone river-god saw me walk away from the green valley to the dusty brown plains beyond. and waited and waited and waited.
but the palate cries out for water and the return to the original attractive sweet water is more than just a beckon rather a shout, a declaration of its fitness and rightful place. Water water everywhere, but none to drink – none that i could see anyway…not yet, not for months after i first sipped of the strong tea and fell for the awakening that first cup brought. Spice island, they called it. I called it, i spoke it. i feel the same way, i feel the love.