A boy once told me I was the paper in his typewriter, and flattered though I was, upon reflection, I knew I would rather be the hammer and the key. I was no blank expanse of unsullied white – vessel or container for his will. Some time ago the seal was broken, or perhaps, I was born unsealed, and I have been full up in storms and fire ever since.
The day I learn to fly, I’m leaving all of you behind, your small kindnesses and whispered affection, his snaking arms coming up out of the dark. The day I learn to fly, I’m soaring straight up, into a dawn lit sky as pale and clear as your eyes.