Everything

Stretch like a child playing with a rubber band, who’s never felt the snap of it gone too far. Bend like light through crystal, or waves in a magnetic field— just enough to press the edge of physics. Reach through a portal built by a mere mortal, through smoke and mirrors. Offering your hand— and your whole life, too. Peel like a hard-boiled egg, cracking and splintering, delicate but sharp. Lower your shield. Expose your soft underbelly. Reveal the golden, glimmering hope wi

To up and leave for a whispered promise— brushing against unwritten stone. I moan. Just a sound to fill the hollow. I don’t mean to sound so monotone. But I left behind all I’ve ever known. Do I land like a feather, fallen from my flock? Gently, tenderly graciously welcoming. Or like the snap of an alligator’s jaw— No looking back, swallowing every bitter memory marching through the swamp with bruised and scraped knees? At first, there’s excitement in unfamiliarity: a snaring

A bridge person stretches — from one to another, like a circus contortionist, twisting into shapes that look impossible. You wonder, does it hurt? Always building. Always meeting. New lands, new faces. Never quite settling. No one ever stays. And yet — ancient humans slept in warm dirt, in a village that knew them by name and by scent. But after all this traveling, after meddling and molding, we’ve reached the skies. The suspension groans with every gust of wind. Did the ance