Mulberry Purple

I dreamt of the way I used to feel on those rainy summer days, back in my land. Hot and humid and cozy, heavy gray sky, the smell of wet grass. Hands stained purple with our homegrown mulberries, a scratch from climbing its tree vaguely itching. The sound of flip-flops against the cold floor, falling on the couch without realizing how familiar and comforting that touch felt. Texting my friends, thinking I’m bored— before I knew what boredom was. Such an ordinary day in all the perfect ways.

I dreamt of all that, so vivid, so unfair. And I woke up and it was gone.

If I close my eyes hard enough, I can pretend what I see is that mulberry-purple.

Mulberry