We thrive off of each other’s accompaniment. Whether it is propping our feet up on the porch and somersaulting into a novel, or dressing up in rainbows to apply attention to ourselves at a rave, we can’t go wrong. The exploiting of paddleboats, volleyball courts and stores narrates Rimini’s humdrum. Stop. Look. Go. The task of walking to the beach requires us to evade the bikers, the sale scams, and the mopeds. Soaked into our skin is the heat that inserts a yen for the tang of gelatos. With each intake of the rich delight, an ooze of guilt slinks from the core of our chests. Lunch. Lunch is a necessity. It is only here where we attempt to convince ourselves the waiter thought we looked starving and not that we look as if we could actually finish off that platter of food. We over satisfy ourselves as our stomachs bulge with content. As the darkness pounces onto the dusk, the stars emit a signal for the music to strike. Our minds sprint into a realm of ecstasy. We lose grasp of time as we slip into an effortless task of keeping ourselves awake. The sensation of bruises immersed in the soles of our feet is our mind’s flare to go to sleep. We tiptoe onto the bus so as to avoid the collision of the tender nerves of the heel bashing the floorboard. Retracting pajamas from the wooden dresser, we slide into new gear. The rushes of adrenaline seep back into its original abode as our eyelashes clinch our bag lines. Our minds lapse into a sphere between reality and illusion as our bodies stay. Magnetic to the bed sheet.
Rimini by Kate Harkins