Bittersweet

• Heights

When I was a kid, I wanted to be everything

A mermaid, but also a fairy,

A biologist but also a writer,

Introverted but also extroverted,

 even though I didn't know what those words meant yet.

I wasn't afraid of heights so therefore I kept my head in the clouds because at least there I would never have a lack of oxygen.

I was always more stars than grass anyway.

I would dream so big all of you would look like ants from up there. I would dream so big the Everest would be jealous of my latitude.

I don't know when I got scared of looking down, but I did.

I didn't want to be everything anymore because I didn't know what I wanted to be at all. I didn't know what I was at all.

I don't dream big anymore.

The biggest dream I have is that someday I'll leave my job and walk in my car's direction and maybe you'll be there.

But you never are.

You never were,

really there.

I don't dream big anymore.

But I also don't feel at home in the grass because even though it's comfortable and holds my body without saying a word, I don't feel welcome here. 

Or anywhere, really.

I don't feel welcome in my own bed; even though it warms me I think it only does it because it has to.

When I was a kid I climbed to my neighbor's roof and stretched my arms to the sky  and today

Today I'm scared

of falling.