August 13, 2023a kiss on the brush and coffee cups too
Last night after I finished brushing my teeth, I saw traces of my lipstick hugging the neck of my toothbrush. An orange-red shade my mom let me borrow for the night.
I remembered how, growing up, I’d observe the red shades caked into my moms brush. New shades as the seasons passed. I found a kind of satisfaction in it. The brush had been used and the color chosen by my mom that day, atop the one she chose the day before, and the one prior, and so on. A stained glass of progression that stood its ground. Layers of a deep history i longed to understand as it shined elegantly against the matte white.
As my mom chatted on the phone in the other room, I lined my brush up and next to hers. The red stains lined differently. One smudge higher, the other a thicker, well-traveled smudge. Perhaps she will be crowned again tomorrow.
This morning as I began to write this, I looked down to see a glossy kiss on my coffee lid.
Familiar and light in its strength.
A drive home from school, where the coffee cups danced as she flew over road bumps. A stoplight’s hue was only ever seen on those lids. Some tossed and some forgotten, some kept til the last drop ran dry, and others gifted to share a sip. It was those I loved as a child, giddy at the thought the rose tone may transfer over.
Maybe this is love. In all its forms. We happen upon it somewhere along its many layers. Ready for a new kiss to be glossed on
I wonder what shade it’ll be at the end,