Thoughts of a Violinist Giraffe

The street is dipped in a stream of fading, weary, warm daylight. Memories of autumn cloud my thoughts as I stare at bright green, summer leaves covering sparse pockets of the Manila alleyway. Faux pine cones dot the railings of the building, unnaturally white,           metallic, and cold. It is nothing like the snow I know from when I was young.                   Yet all I know is gone, a near-decade of moments collected in what should be home. A kaleidoscope of daydreams                    roll, a setting of bare branches and ankle-deep winter. Deep breaths of sharp cold air momentarily keep off the shiver. Chicago winds bite into my cheeks,            squinting just to see past the flurries. I prepare to yell into the stark blue, crystalline wintry sky - The roar of obnoxious Manila traffic      ...

The sea of evergreen engulfs a petite, spriteful lady in a violet blouse, housed by sparks of bright         blues, reds, and yellows. She stands before me, mellow in the embrace of fading dusk light. Day was greeted with sly smiles and half-woken daydreams. Hazy, similarly lazy wisps of tea shade the room with barely-made memories of less than half a decade of hopeful, Romantic thoughts of the future. We wear our unsureties like a welcome sweater in Winter time. I sip the cup of tea as she gracefully sits beside me, relaxed as a cat sprawled out on a strip of day-time on carpet floor.                      She complains of sore feet received the other day, and I reply wryly if she spent the night practicing                               landing on all fours, to which she mockingly hangs her mouth in horror. We laugh...