The lemon smelled of sea and new beginnings. I cradled that large lemon like I cradled my life. My fingers ran along its perfect yet imperfect skin. For this moment, it was beautiful and mine. Its scent foretold my future with its rare sweet and sour taste: conception. Recently turned 25, I looked out at the sea of colorful houses on that small island off the coast of Napoli. This memory is like a dream that I sometimes forget was real. Soon to be 33, the memory urges me to remember the lemons whisper, its scent invitingly resurfacing.
Foretelling: birth.
xx Black Dove