It's crucial, but it's temporary. We're going to live if we don't die trying. Help me find my way, you say, through all the days I spent looking for my heart in your sleeve. A lifetime of maybes, and all that's left is a waste: of love, of freedom, of family. I know I'm supposed to stay, but I'm always going; the last time I stopped, I got old. I wouldn't know how to react if I lost what I never owned. It's just a night, the morning will take away this fight, so for now I fly, because my soul is too lightweight to put my foot down and lie. I'd rather die than say goodbye, this will go by, like a high speed chase on a highway; live to love another day, we'll stay.
YOU ARE READING
Flights of Fancy
PoetryThere is another dimension beyond that which is known to fictional characters. A collection of short stories, poems, snippets, vignettes, and everything else that crosses my mind and has no place in my current publications, or is waiting in the wing...
