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hearts and blossom and pollen

published: 2015-06-15

I am shedding little white hearts, the way the trees shed blossom and flowers pollen. It all drifts in the air around me as I weave my way through this spring snow on my bike. My hearts fly up and around me, drift down to the ground behind me where they may be trampled and disappear into the earth. One of them hits the helmet of a man on a scooter who passes me by, it sticks on his head for a while, then drops to his leathered shoulder and flies away. Another few hearts fall over a young couple on a bicycle behind me. And on a shrub. A plant. Into trees. On a man running in the park without a T-shirt on. Another man – who is walking his dog – sneezes. The heart does a twister in front of his face, but he doesn’t notice it.
I see a man I know. He asks me to stop. I think it’s to talk but we are saying goodbye. I give him my two last hearts, they are stuck together. I lick them – they are sour – and stick them to his bare arm while continuing our conversation. He touches them mindlessly, is concentrated on me, himself. They are in his fingers now and he brings them to his nose. Then crumples them up and pushes them into my hand. I am to throw them away.

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