If I could talk to the moon, I would tell it to make me a tittle-tattle garden party by the neighbor’s front lawn, then I would ask tomorrow to hop on a Uber, zap through the streets, serve me up a plate on the yard, splash the naked truth on the driveway and welcome it. But honest to goodness truth, I can’t talk to the moon and even if I could, the sun would brusquely pop like a road runner with a spaghetti plate on its neck and say “hello, I am your Lyft driver; what’s your story?!” Yup, it would!
©️ Angela Aguiar
At the gym…
Austin: So Bret, have you seen a therapist yet?
Bret: No, I have an appointment later in the week.
Austin: What’s his name again?
Bret: His first name is Jack and his last name is Daniels.
Austin: Oh ok, hope he helps.
Bret: I heard he is good. Yeah, I am confident he will.
Joel: Wait, who is that again?
Bret: My therapist.
Joel: You are seeing a therapist?
I want food, real food, delicious food, a variety of food. I want orange, orange juice, orange flour, orange cake, grapefruit, lemonade. I want fruits, various fruits, a variety of fruits, colored fruits. I want fresh vegetables, green leaves, many shades of hues. I want to solve the puzzle, caress the paint brush, pick from the domino table, feel my mouth full but right about now, I can only dream. I can only dream and pretend that I am at the supermarket, the aisles are filled of goodies and I running around, picking from it like a kid in a candy store. I can only because I can’t. I can’t because I am delirious. Yes, I am still hallucinating.