words without: green.

it is the overwhelming sweetness of a kiwi, the taste punching your tongue in sour, sugary jabs, soft background against the crunch of seeds. it's the smell of grass after it's been freshly cut, the sound of leaves waving in the spring breeze. it's the feeling of moss against your fingertips, the blooming feeling of sickness you have right before you throw up. it's the smell of the earth after rain, feeling of an unfamiliar stranger kissing their way across your chest. it is the sound of crickets, the way that snakes move, bridging the yawning gap between solid and liquid. it is the smell of old houses, the way my father moves in the morning, the sound of a newborn baby's cry. it is the lazy gurgle of a slough, and the crack of wood as a tree begins its slow journey towards death. it is life, and it is death, and it is everything in between.