Made of fire. Part two

Yellow

The sun in your small town is enormous.
You keep flowing within its light,
Dancing on its touches and rhythms.

The Sun talks to you like your parents don't.
It shares its unconditional love and acceptance.

You keep running the streets with the guys you bump into.

You are still playing astronauts and Indians.


In another small town,
A small girl doesn't see the Sun often enough.

She gets a railroad and keeps playing with it.
No one can convince her to play with dolls,
So in her first years she plays a beautiful black plastic railroad
And cuts garden worms into two,
Just because she's seen it in encyclopaedias.

She doesn't like a small town church but she's always curious about books.

You keep running.
She keeps reading.

You are different points
Of the same generation.
Different boiling points.

The Sun boils in your blood.
The Sun boils in her blood.

Day two.