Untitled by Vanessa de Loa

Jump into your reflection, feel the tentacles in the depths tease your toes. Let your skin soak in the sun, listen to the 128 trees greeting each other. Every other weekend I sit and I sleep and I think while I get lost in the comfort of strangers. I can be your patient and talk  to you about a beautiful forest, or the top of the mountain I cut with a paper. Can you feel the Eight planets surrounding you? Tell me if the moon stares at you in the middle of the stars. I can be your patient and talk to you about the universe, and how it’s not infinite. I can tell you every story the stars and planets have whispered too loud to me. Do you jump  through countries and galaxies like hopscotch? Or are you afraid on your couch like the floor is lava? Do you believe you, your 206 bones, brain and heart belong for this earth? I can be your patient, talk to you about how you have to feel the water kissing every inch of your bare body at least for seven Midnights. I can tell you if heaven, dirt, or hell makes a better home. I can talk to you about the six cats I’ve had so far in my second life. I can talk to you about the raindrops coming down of heaven feel like a breath. I am your patient.