Dear Me,
You know how it is, when you're walking along a wall
arms outstretched
confident
c o n f l a t e d with purpose
buoyant with elation
even though you're barely a foot off the ground.
This higher strata of air smells sharper, more real. Heady with the inundation of perspective, the lofty embrace of the elemental
brings you that bit closer to sky.
No one gets it.
You miss the abandon of childhood.
At nineteen, you have no excuse to be walking on a wall.
nonetheless
a r m s s t i l l o u t s t r e t c h e d
you find yourself pacing the slim badminton court lines
meeting
the same agape stares
the same frowned glances
the same patronizing, amused looks
and yet, the same elated thrill.