the orange on my desk

So that this blog doesn’t fall into a dirge about death, loss, brokenness and love, I insist today on writing about the orange that finds itself on my desk.

I’d been meaning to eat it sometime in the last few days as dessert, but my stomach had been instructed by my eyes to leave its lovely glowing colour well alone. I’m glad I haven’t touched it yet. It’s the only splash of life on a table covered by scraps of newspaper, sections of article I’ll later curse for having come loose, snotty tissues, rolls of toilet paper, and a used towel. It dominates the objects around it so beautifully, like the perfectly balanced aquiline nose on an otherwise ugly face. Or perhaps, it is an ordinary face that just disintegrates into insignificance beside such a magnificent sight?

I’ve thought too much about the orange now. If I eat it now, it will be out of revenge for making the signs of my life seem so shabby.

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~ by translating for peas on July 4, 2010.

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