Aidan San Francisco — 1985 Delicate Dust

The world is one-quarter colored for Aidan. In the mornings, he wakes beside a beautiful stranger turned to dust. He has changed the delicate pastel shades of the perfect stranger to grey ash. He has drained the world of a bit of color, a bit of beauty, however deadly. Mystery and magic have turned to dust. He does not like these new observations that color his world with empathy. He wishes to return to the black and white order of his heart. He wants to shut his eyes to the light. To stop from listening to the cries in the night, but he cannot. And yet, a piece of him is captivated by the burgundy of his wine, the maroon in an orchid’s throat, the rich red of a stranger’s lips. The longer and longer waves of red light populate his world with shades of diversity. He is still divided, shades contained neatly inside hard lines. But bit by bit, light wave upon light wave, he is becoming helpless, human. Sorrow and pity no longer total strangers.