When I was six, my mother said to me ‘you can fly, if you really try!’ But I was always too afraid to sprout wings, and do a Tarzan swing.
So instead I would live the best moments of my life at night, dreaming of the sight. Dreaming of the crisp air, massaging my mahogany hair, as I search for your gleaming blue eyes that glitter in the night sky.
Yet I could never find you, only the ghost of your laugh and the ghost your smile too. So I gave up my impossible dream, and here I am now, as doubtful as It seems.
Standing on top of my ending, my soul so close to breaking and so far from bending. And I jump while your words of stupidly whisk past my rose petal tipped ears ‘you can fly.’ Thats what I repeat as I fall from the sky.
But no matter how hard I push and pull, the ground won’t stop coming up-hill. And then all I see is blackness.