A part of me is rooted here firmly
dug in, determined and set,
comfortable, more my routine,
than the striving to be seen,
I sit here willingly blind and dumb.
Yet a part of me has already taken flight,
over the roofs, into the great beyond.
I have flown past opinion and lost chances,
careful to not catch guilty fingers on branches,
I am finding my way free.
Somewhere in the middle lies the truth,
of the stay-behinds and the go-aheads.
We’ve told lies to ourselves and each other,
things we’d hate to admit to our mothers,
somehow the weight of it has been borne.
So, we strive to make sense of our lives.
We seek for a balm of love.
As we turn over rocks to find juicy worms,
we repeat the lessons we refuse to learn,
and move on, again and again.
I can stay here and never move,
pretending that nothing has changed,
or let go of the world and you,
and fly towards the Sun anew,
until I disappear forever in the clouds.