want to roll the window down and let my hand fly high as someone else drives to
somewhere I don’t know.
want to see the stars all of them under some gigantic map of the universe
spread out on the black table above.
want to explore somewhere that’s never been explored.
want to listen and to wonder.
things I’m allowed to do—maybe I can wait.
things I want to do—maybe I shouldn’t.
person I want to be—maybe he can wait a decade or two.
I want to be a kid for the rest of my life.
I want to watch and wonder.
all those things I want to undo can simply hover far out in space like all
those little tiny specks of wonder.
that heaviness I crave so bad can float out far out where no one can hear or
see it. Because as they say, in space no one can hear you scream.
little wonders of each day pass by and sometimes remain unseen like falling
stars because I’m so busy chasing around the fireflies surrounding me. I’m so busy
to notice. I’m so utterly busy.
stars wait. And watch. And wonder. Just like kids do.
all so desperate to grow up and move on and do all the things we want to do.
Then we find ourselves out of breath wishing we could be young again, bored and
waiting and watching.
brilliant and beautiful. These glorious young stars.
and watching like we all do.
heart doesn’t age but everything else around it does. And eventually, it is
forced with this decision. To close and protect itself or to open and risk the
bruises and the brokenness.
you’re young, you don’t worry about protecting yourself. You just go. Run. So free
and always falling.
don’t want to close anything. And I don’t want to ever stop looking up, no
matter how busy and breathless I might be.
never want to stop looking at the stars. They’re constant reminders, and they’re