My day was bland. Tasteless. The worst kind of day, like an old rice cake, stale and completely flavorless. My days aren’t always like this. Yesterday was rancid. The sky was a thick murky green and smelled of spoiled milk and old meat. Every breath brought on a wave of nausea. It seemed as though my nostrils were smeared with some fowl unctuous crème. No matter the place, the air was the same.
But even this is not usual. Occasionally my days are warm and sweet like fresh apple pie. Made of comforting browns and golds, and the solidity of the atmosphere is wrapping and calm. These days the sun shines hot and the breeze blows sugared lips across my face. These days are seldom and so are treasures.
The times I remember most, are the days of peppery spice. The days I don’t expect. The days that hit me like a surprise bite of fresh chili peppers and virgin lemons. Those are the days to live for. When every color and every fragrance is loaded with a dazzling punch of spicy spirit. Everything is orange and cinnamon, and the world seems like it will never be flat or dull again.
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