I wish I could fly. You are thinking, “She’s crazy...” and I probably am, but I don’t mean to literally fly. I wish I were better at growing the wings I need to carry me to an unfamiliar place. I wish I were better at the hop, flutter, flutter, needed to jump to the sky and take off to the stars, the neighborhoods where I don’t fit in, but wish I did. If only my wings would take me there.

I wish I were better at leaving the path set in stones that weigh down my hollow bones.

Sometimes, I manage to rise.

Then, I look at myself from above. Soaring above life’s tracks, I look in, and see too much blurred together into something senseless but with a thrilling after-taste that burns your throat long after you swallow. Beyond skin, bones, and plastic hide waves of color, sound and forgotten promises. There is music. The same CD played on repeat. The same hopes and fears. The same rivers, carving there eternal journey into my hands. I am not the same.

I wish I could fly. Break boundaries. Freedom awaits. I dare to let myself hope.

High school, grades, choke, grades, college, future, sputter. I wish I were better at quick flights, and detours that loop back, but help me feel night against my breeze ruffled feathers on the way. I wish I were better at adventure, misadventures, and landing in the unknown. It is time to pave my own path through the ever-shifting clouds.