Things go fast, very fast, around me. I seat back and sip my lemonade, with a twist. It gets warm, hot, I put my fresh hand on the back of my neck while I see my world melting, things are changing, I learn to deal with it. My body is not my temple, it’s my friend. We are masters in collaboration. I see the phases showing on my face, my breasts, my hair, while I hear everybody say “you don’t look your age” and I wonder how was I supposed to look instead. I am likely to stop hearing it soon, not a frighting thought at all. I look in the mirror, at myself, though slightly different, I am still there, more than ever if anything. Seating outside this venue is not in my nature, but today, I make an exception, I want to look at them go, not all of us are in a rush. I am thrilled to see, somehow, my path is not so crowded. We stumble between political regimes, I wonder if wasps’ democracy is equally weak. I think on the times when I grabbed a loaded glass instead of a guitar that would have made me romantically weaped for my neglected floor rather than lamenting the grimy state of the, pardon my French, salle de bain, this days are behind me now, or, aren’t they? Whether out of love hurt, the doors I shouldn’t have opened or simply a turn gone wrong, my companion, that is not a sacred vessel, forgives me along the road. This is how it feels to live. This is how we got here, vow to a bond based on kindness and acceptance. Together we have built a creature that thrives within nature’s guidelines best. With this quirky, cocky, lowercased “d” diva ways of mine, I am a queen. I wear my crown underneath my skin, full of precious stones, like pebbles of green peridotite.

Changes. Short-story from “12 o’clock-tales” ( The red table & A scared black cat, book adventure)

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