I'm sitting here as if I have nothing to do -- as if I don't have to get a shower, wash my hair, get dressed, make my bed, go to work -- but there's something about the fragrance of those overripe tangerines that makes me linger. What word can I use to describe the smell, the aroma, the fragrance? It almost burns my nostrils. Pungent? Almost, but not quite, sour? Bittersweet? A little acid-y? And look at their deep orange color. Four, next to one green lime. I know it's time to toss them. But I just want to sit close to them a little longer.
Now today, I see one of them looks like it's getting soft and mushy. The lime has shriveled. I toy with the thought of taking a picture. But sometimes a picture just won't do.
Why do I dread throwing these little round pieces of fruit away? Do I regret not having savored them at their peak of freshness, so I somehow honor them by keeping them for what they are? For what they are becoming? I'm not sure if this is the reason at all; it just comes to me as I am writing this post. Maybe sometimes we don't know what we think until we try to put it into (in to?) words.
Maybe I should keep them at least one more day. Maybe then I can figure it out. Or maybe figuring it out doesn't really matter.
