And I’d like to believe we’re out there somewhere. The dream can exist in some space where we can just be. Maybe I’m watching myself reflected backwards through time, smiling and waving and I can just barely feel the hem of my dress as it flicks past me and all these little girls I’ve been have these huge smiles on their faces and I can just see the whites of their teeth reflected in a bit of light everywhere I go. I’m regathering myself. I’m seeing myself again. 

Just keep my dreams for today, let me trade them in for this air. For these bubble wrapped sweetnesses of sound and of memory that are absolutely driving my mind through itself back to the beginning. My child eyes are big and round and everything I see feels as if it has been stolen back from some aching teenage dream. The air is swollen and thick with everything I once knew and the streets know me. My feet can feel these pounding shapes and tuck into them without fear, without looking, my feet know their place on the ground again. This is a beautiful country. I am so grateful to have grown up here. These are things I’ve never felt before, but they are the most precious joys to hear myself resounding in. I seem to be seeing the scope of my life out of some huge gaping telescope and everything is clear. There is lust on the wind and my eyes trust my feet and my feet seem to just follow these great gusts of sweet spring music. I belong here.  

This is secret time. Belonging to no one but the spaces between the highway trees and the sky. I’m existing just between the drive from here to there and these small eternities are just bleeding with familiar harmonies gasping for air out of cracked windows. You’re a breath of something within me. 

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