We'll fly, but we won't fly away. No no no, we're going to save the world someday.
what can I fill my eyes with and yet still see past to live?
I don't want to waste this, and that makes it that much harder. I am going to believe in heaven, dammit, I am. I am going to stop worrying and hurrying and I will let myself ghost in case I can't be a ghost after I die. I am going to watch the birds and the squirrels and remember them over themselves and then forget. I am going to eat the sun off of the blackberries and I am going to galumph like a monster and stop feeling paused. I am not dead I am not I am not even a leaf undecided midfall. I want to read books with lots of pictures and diagrams with no plot or reason, just telling. I want to watch a nature film where nothing happens. I want my umbrella to hear the world and remember it in the metal spars. I want to sail away in a bathtub full of moldy books and watch the sudden spray startle seagulls. I want to wave my feet in the air and wiggle my toes in the sun. I want rub myself away and discover I am an immortal vapor so we could realize we are short almost-giggles of earth breath. I want to dance with you. I want our spines. So I will sleep of lemonade and I will be able to close my eyes and the wind will pool in our shoulderblades, raising them to wings so that we can carry each other. We are going to fly someday we are.
I am so glad to be alive. It seems almost blessedly unfair that humans can love life so much. Right now, my ears are burnt with the after-images of a million songs and edged conversations, in my eyes linger the echoes of a thousand setting suns and camera flashes. My bed is soft and warm and feet are pleasingly frigid. Goodnight, I'll see you soon.
I must find something important about damp shoes.
I don't want to waste this, and that makes it that much harder. I am going to believe in heaven, dammit, I am. I am going to stop worrying and hurrying and I will let myself ghost in case I can't be a ghost after I die. I am going to watch the birds and the squirrels and remember them over themselves and then forget. I am going to eat the sun off of the blackberries and I am going to galumph like a monster and stop feeling paused. I am not dead I am not I am not even a leaf undecided midfall. I want to read books with lots of pictures and diagrams with no plot or reason, just telling. I want to watch a nature film where nothing happens. I want my umbrella to hear the world and remember it in the metal spars. I want to sail away in a bathtub full of moldy books and watch the sudden spray startle seagulls. I want to wave my feet in the air and wiggle my toes in the sun. I want rub myself away and discover I am an immortal vapor so we could realize we are short almost-giggles of earth breath. I want to dance with you. I want our spines. So I will sleep of lemonade and I will be able to close my eyes and the wind will pool in our shoulderblades, raising them to wings so that we can carry each other. We are going to fly someday we are.
I am so glad to be alive. It seems almost blessedly unfair that humans can love life so much. Right now, my ears are burnt with the after-images of a million songs and edged conversations, in my eyes linger the echoes of a thousand setting suns and camera flashes. My bed is soft and warm and feet are pleasingly frigid. Goodnight, I'll see you soon.
I must find something important about damp shoes.