when riding waves of sadness
it does good to remember
the safe rhythm of a slow train,
the watercolour fragility of bougainvillea,
the pointedness of cold water,
the spicy sting of ginger in tea.
the sure moment of lucidity mid-sob,
the faint vanilla hint of her moisturiser,
the warm pinkness of winter mornings,
and forgotten flowers in fat books.
or simply
that, cherry tomatoes exist.
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