Serendipity

She could've been a cupcake in another life; her candy coated lips made the words she didn't speak taste like little apple wood fireplaces to warm the snow that fell onto the black slate roof. They were collecting sun for the night, they were collecting moon for her dreams, and they almost stopped washing the tiles in order to hold on to the sonatas that they wrote in the dust during summer. But internationalities wept for the lost regard of the immediate future and blood colored fingernails made for a fantasy ride. True, the left-overs still smell sweet, but she wanted to bake something every day to show that the essence of their sin would always carry with them the warmth of another time. Moving along horizon lines and dancing on longitude, she would have morphed her physicality and made her name something more Abrahamic and less pop-music. In her philosophy class, though, she meandered without hope, remaining flawless in her recognition of the possibilities that were mounting themselves to the staccato wall without bereft regard. Coolant and radiation aside, there were many more moments left before she could give up on never giving up. Until the ocean hit the mountains, however, she would wait. Eternity was whimsical when one lived a lifetime of serendipity.