Swirl

We stood on the brink of silver heartbreak in aisles lined with ivory yogurt and coffee creamer. The bottles stood like crowded towers, staring at our blue wrists and sideways cheeks - there was life there still, pink and flush, unlike the stiff purple beneath the skin of our forearms. All we wanted was to take a sip - you could see it in the folds of our lips, the flecks of parched skin. Oh, what it must be like to swim amongst the dark roast and the plain, white, maybe blueberry yogurt! Turning swirls of caramel blue into painted merry go rounds, we would dance to the sound of abundant colors; but the hair on our knuckles spoke with panic, our fisted fingers lay unusable at our hips. It appeared that there would be no fumbling of hands opening the plastic seal, no fingers dipped in thick white. We contemplated moving forward to the next aisle - we had other errands to run, other items to cautiously throw into the baskets placed between our feet. But, the silver heartbreak creaked through our blood with a stinging, cool silence, its inertia mounting with such force that our bodies lurched into the shelves, drenching our skin with creamer and acrid espresso. It appeared there was no choice to be made at all. 

We hit traffic on the way home.