All I see is psychedelic fish in our conversation

Suffice it to say I am determined to drown in smoke today, perhaps become sand...
I'm rehearsing, I'm preparing myself for the next episode.

Perhaps I'll have to rebuild my thoughts
and get a new dress:
let my hair grow, find comfort in new sounds.

Slowly.

I'm never sure about what I intend to find when I look up at the sky.
Forever dancing dust.

How I would like to die:
becoming sand, while walking on the dunes
feeling the hot wind hitting my face,

and then my cells letting go one by one:
flesh
hair
and bones
slowly rising into the sky

A part of me would travel with the wind, other would end up resting by the sea
or feeding worms.

I wouldn't mind, no. I wouldn't mind if I were dust resting on your shoulder.

In an instant, I'd be gone.


--
Diana López