In summers, she served lemonade – breakfast, lunch, dinner.

Writer
In summers, she served lemonade – breakfast, lunch, dinner.

Despair, anguish, anger – beginnings of all great stories.
No one is born ugly, we’re just born in a judgemental society.
Kim Namjoon
A cup of poetry for the incurable romantic.
No room for despair. Despair is a luxury.
Brandon Sanderson (The Stormlight Archive – Way of Kings)
When the mind and body are busy then there’s no room for the dark and dreary.
To bake a cake in the eye of a storm; to feed yourself sugar on the cusp of danger.
By Ocean Vuong
This quote is from the book, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong. Every line in this book is like poetry, beautiful, graceful and so impactful. The title of the book itself was amazing enough for me to pick it up and start reading. This literary fiction discusses some serious elements like trauma, violence, race, war, and survival.
To explain the above quote, the author says, “In the story, when a girl and her grandmother spot a storm brewing on the green horizon, instead of shuttering the windows or nailing boards on the doors, they set out to bake a cake. I was unmoored by this act, its precarious yet bold refusal of common sense.”
It was noon, sometime in June, when the wildflowers had started to bloom.
A straw hat on the head for the groom and a dusty pink gown for the bridegroom.
In the golden light of the summer sun, people glittered like shiny pearls.
Glasses clinked, lovers winked, kids frolicked holding orange ice cream.
Eyes sparkled with merriment, there was a magical happiness in the air.
Celebrations, weddings, garden parties, on sunny days are always the best.

Dreaming of low tides,
Long nights under the moonlight
Sitting around logs set on fire
Upon white sand and
Mountains looming under dark skies.
Sea breeze muffles our voices
As we share stories
Holding mugs of warmth
In our mitten covered hands
There’s always so much to say,
To listen,
To laugh,
With friends around
There’s no track of time.
Soon.
Those days will come soon.

The monochromatic room
Speaks in a whispered volume
Through the window by the bed
I look outside at the pouring rain
Holding a cigarette.
Hazy smoke fills the air
Blurring the 70-square foot room
I close my eyes
Listen to the sound of the pouring rain
Holding a cigarette.
In some kind of a dreamy state
Feeling some kind of euphoric sense of freedom
Smoke rises from the chimneys of old roofs
The world has turned grey
From the streets and the skies to the walls of the room
Like the falling ash
Like this metallic chair
On which I sit in my white underwear
Taking in a deep drag
Feeling the sharpness of the smoke
Buzzing through my mind
Through my bare naked feet
It feels right
I wonder why?
Why does everything bad have to feel so good?
The heaviness
The carelessness
The messy sheets
The art on the walls –
The only thing worth holding on to.
This greyness in the air
Is like a song that plays
In some corner of the mind
This greyness in the air
Brings out the freak inside
Looking up at the sky
With one foot on the chair
and one hand resting on the knee
Holding on to this burning desire
A grey wisp of smoke curls in the air.
Holding on to all that’s present in this
Dull artistic greyness
Writing away all that I want
All that I feel,
Old memories come back to life.
Where has that girl gone?
Disappeared like thin air
Into the mist
Reckless and bold,
Sassy and cold.
Hidden somewhere deep inside
Safe in a grey corner of my mind.

Bullies are scared people hiding inside scary people.
Michelle Obama in Becoming