mostly nonsense

CCVI.

Adult: when it still meant shoulders hunched against the falling snow, anyone with laugh lines, warm coats and broad chests, arms that carry, and nothing will hurt ever again. When the line was still clear, here-is-me and there-is-you, and I will know when I cross it.

“You can be anything you’d like to be, you know”. It’s a lie. Can I shrug off my sweater and unfurl a set of magnificent black wings? Can I still rushing waters with a wave of my hand? If I sit still for long enough, quietly enough, can I disappear?

I can’t be everything I’d like to be, -

Doesn’t everyone cry when the plane descends towards the city they love? The reflection of headlights across the front windows, right before sundown. My great aunts, matching dyed hair and large gold hoops for earrings, teaching my five year old brother the chorus of “Paper Moon”. Falling asleep in someone’s lap before the Hanukkah candles have even burned out.

- but I can be these things.