Flashes of bright lights littered the night sky.
Sharp noises in the air muted the humming of cars that rushed past our hotel room.
The palm trees were cocooned in Christmas lights,
they lined the street as we walked down to the gas station.
My mother stumbled and muttered to stay away from the street,
she didn't smell sweet like she used to.
She continued to trip over her own feet and swear and laugh.
"Look up there." She motioned up to the fireworks sputtering in the sky. "Look how pretty."
I let go of her hand and tilted my face up, letting the colors fall into my eyes. "Pretty."
I don't know how long I was engaged with the stars and shimmers,
but when I looked back down to earth my life had changed.
She had run into the street,
her silhoutte shadowed the ground against the bright lights and horns of oncoming traffic.
The wailing of the ambulance and cop cars faded in and out with
each burst of brilliance against the black night.
That was the night colors stopped being pretty to me.
Cherish who you have, no matter how broken they might be.
You never know when they might leave, quick as a flash.