i dreamt of you crouched below the kumquat tree, plucking branches of fruit and leaves for the wedding cake. i can smell the wind, the scattering of petals across the air. and in it, rustles of your voice. maybe? almost. it’s almost there, tiptoeing along a memory that is no longer –– us driving home, turning into a cul de sac marked by a deciduous tree. white gliding everywhere, you saying it’s like a californian winter. i can almost hear it, your voice, it’s almost there.

we laugh against the sky. our eyes find the sun’s and i say we should take a picture together. you smile, still voiceless. the shutter clicks and i wake up. it’s a picture i don’t have.

i used to weep until i became nothing.
but now, i weep until i realize you taught me better.

details: watercolor, graphite, acrylic, blossoms in front of our home, quotes from the last 12 years on cold pressed paper

dimensions: 18” x 24”

shipping: each parcel is packaged with hard cardboard backing and wrapped in a protective sleeve to ensure that it reaches your home safely

signed on the front