Were You Made out of Oranges?
I started to wonder: why was my eyes turned sour as I tried to reach you?
Mayhap since you looked more and more pretty hence my eyes turned sour?
Some sort of ideas piled up inside of my head. It was suffocating me, therefore I gathered my courage to ask you.
“Were you made out of oranges?”
You laughed at me then you showed me your sweet; angelic smile before you answered my question. “What do you mean by that? I don’t know.” You shrugged your shoulder.
I reached to you; forced myself to threw away my timidness and held you by the hand. I watched your furrowed eyebrows and my thumbs caressed your long finger. Heart was beating so hard as if it going to exploded.
“You’re an orange, sweet; yet sour and bitter.”
“Oh God, I know that you’re into poem shit but stop talking nonsense!” you whined as confusion filled you up. I smiled awkwardly; scratched my nape that was not even itching. You didn’t seem to understand what I was trying to say.
My gut told me: your sourness was the reason why my eyes wet. The moment I bit a glimpse of your skin, my tongue felt bitter. I ate a slice of your fruit, and an unordinary sweetness hit my palate. I swear, I’ve never tasted a sweet like this: warm and lovely; like the color orange.
Were you made out of oranges?
After all is said, I don’t have the answer, neither you. Perhaps it was because you bewitched me.
