tangerines

how you're still in every thread of my mundane

i peeled a tangerine for her today.

pressed my nail into its flesh and pulled the skin away, little bursts of juice coating my palms. the scent of citrus fills the air, light and fresh.

it takes me back.

‘you remembered’.

sunlight dapples in the trees, softening the evening into gold as you walk over and drop down beside me. laying your head in my lap without a second thought, as though i’m where you belong.
as though i’m your home.

orange rind is scattered over the picnic blanket in front of me, my hands sticky with juice and full of pith i’ve been painstakingly removing from each slice for the past few minutes.

‘i only told you once, and you remembered.’

i look down, already melting into your touch as your hand brushes away the curls that have fallen on to my shoulders.
you always touch me like this.
gently, as though i’m an overripe fruit you’re afraid to bruise if you hold me too hard.

‘you hate the way the threads feel on your tongue,’ i shrug.

‘i do.’

‘so i removed it.’

simple. loving you is so simple. it comes to me as naturally as breathing.
you smile up at me in the way you do, eyes softening before your lips catch up.

‘once is all it takes with you.’

you reach for a slice and hold it to my mouth. i take a bite, sweet tartness bursting across my tongue as i notice the way your eyes linger at the juice left on my lips.
neither of us says anything.
a breeze stirs the leaves around us, welcome on my too-hot skin.

somewhere in the distance, someone laughs.
a baby cries.
the world keeps turning, but i’m frozen in this moment with you.
in our own little universe.

you are my universe, i think to myself.

you lean in.
you taste like sunshine and citrus.
like smiles and the colour orange.
you taste sweet.

i blink.

the kitchen comes back into focus.
i look down at the half peeled fruit in my hands. the rind lies scattered across the counter, pieces too small to have been shredded by accident.
i clench my hands to stop them from shaking, and force myself to finish as i push the memories away.

the scent is suddenly too sweet. cloying. it coats the back of my throat until i can taste the bitterness of what used to be.

i separate the segments.
my nail catches on the white threads, and i almost start to remove it.

then stop.

i peeled a tangerine for her today.

but i left the pith on.

as though those delicate white threads were the only thing left tying me to you.

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love, rooma x