Gold

I want to go west.

I know it’d make me happier, to be somewhere I’ve never seen save for in my mind.

California. Because it sounds so shiny to me.

It’s not like here, where all of the city is a single shade of gray.

Here lacks the light that showers the world in splashes of color.

In California, though, the sun is king.

He’s set in a throne against the sky, from whence his rays rain down.

Midas, he’ll turn the sand, my body, my hair to flecks, liquid, and floss of gold

And I will join the aurora as a being composed of that which never loses its radiance.