The walk


I could peel the world away. Every step is not mine, every breath is borrowed time. Every blink – a shift. The wind howling behind my eyes, as the trees stand still in front; watching me pass by: branches twisted with tension resolved yet contained, dressed in new leaves and smells. The Oleander is staring: reaching down: it caresses my cheeks and walks away with my face. Everything is as still as the emptiness of a drum, echoing my breath, my blinking eyes, my tingling mind. My feet carry me onward, the trees come and go, thick and thin, fragrant, rooted in the Earth and the Sky. Not me. I glide through. Soon to be blown into pieces, scattered forever in the mosaic of this imagined fluke.
To my right is the neighborhood I live in, but a new street, a new feel, a place that is no longer. To my left is my mind, the landscape of my galloping thoughts, basking in the forbidden as wild horses ravage a virgin plane. I watch them flash by and away, the saddle by my feet, and my feet tripping. I look up into the smell of the clouds and wonder when I will awake, only to feel the stubborn reality of wakefulness. I look on and then down. The houses are passing me by as my soul roams in them. Families come and gone, fights started and won, love sparkling and long. I walk on and my soul roams around me, outside me: uncatchable, untamable, unimaginably strong, unquestionably real. Bigger then my body, bigger then my mind, bigger then I can contain. So I let her go and wonder what will become of me now, and when will she come back.

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